


we aren't who we used to be

by EclipseWing



Series: in a yellow wood [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banshee Lydia, Because I can, Coach is convinced Allison Stiles and Scott are in a threesom, Creeper Peter, Derek's Pack of Outcasts, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, I introduce Malia early, Kanima Jackson Whittemore, Not Quite a Hunter Allison, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles adopts a coyote, Stiles has very dubious morals and isn't particularly nice to anybody, Werewolf Scott, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, little focus on romance, s2 AU rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 95,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Scott were both bitten that night in the woods. But now his and Scott's friendship is in ruins. Derek is an alpha with a new pack, Gerard is in town and there is a new killer on the loose.<br/>Peter may be dead but everyone needs to learn to live with the consequences of their choices.</p><p>[or: Stiles has learnt to cope with the fallout from his decisions, but this time it's not him making the mistakes.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

The soil is still slightly damp from the rain, and it furrows easily beneath his scrambling claws. He thrashes, leaves flying through the air as he searches for something to hold onto.

“Don’t. Move.” A weight sinks onto his arms, and he stills, throat pulsing and neck bared in a submissive pose. A warm breath pants over him, growling softly.

“Don’t,” he begs, pulling away from the shape, “Please, don’t…” he presses himself back to the ground, putting as much distance between them as possible.

“Don’t?” Scott laughs from where he pins Stiles to the ground. His hands curl into claws, burying into Stiles’ wrists like manacles. “Stiles.” Scott whispers, voice soothing, “We’re brothers. We bleed together, remember?”

Scott’s claws rip out of Stiles’ wrists, only to curl instead into Stiles’ stomach. Stiles knocks his head against the soft ground, a hoarse cry ripping its way out of his throat. His eyes flash down to where the fingers are buried, spotting the red that seeps through his shirt.

“Not like this.”

“But we’re pack.” Stiles looks up at Peter, at the eyes burning red as the man begins to transform, face twisting, “I burn, you burn too.” Teeth are elongating into canines and the one side of his face is melted, twisted and scarred.

His vision blurs and Stiles winces from the heat, struggling free but he’s pinned and trapped and he can’t breathe and…

That’s how Stiles wakes up, still struggling. He’s caught in his bed covers, and they’ve wrapped around him, keeping his arms pinned against him. He tugs them free, breath rushing back into him as he relaxes back because he’s safe.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

His eyes close, but he can still feel the pinpricks of claws buried in his wrists and the heat of the flames as Peter burns.

 

“Is it still loud?”

His father leans in the doorway, arms crossed. His brows are furrowed with concern and confusion, as he tries to understand. The Sheriff’s gaze is fixed on where he is curled up, knees to his chest and staring at some lifeless point that only he can see.

The Sheriff sighs.

“It’s always loud,” Stiles’ voice is hoarse. He took the sigh as a prompt to answer, but when his dad doesn’t reply immediately his eyes dart up to look at the man. The worry in his eyes gives him the incentive he needs to uncoil, arms pushing himself up. “Are you okay?”

His dad steps backwards and Stiles freezes. One hand comes up placating, “It’s just a lot to take in. Werewolves, alphas, hunters…” he fixes his gaze on his son, “I’m concerned about you. Have you seen the others since…?” his sentence trails off. He’s either unsure on the details, or unwilling to stir up bad memories.

“Since I burnt to death again?” someone says. Stiles stiffens, and doesn’t turn his head to look at the shadow cast from the man sitting on his desk. He’s bowed over a book, flicking through the pages idly and looking bored.

The Sheriff doesn’t even glance at him.

“No.” Stiles answers the question, pushing himself into a sitting position. He angles his body towards his father, feet dangling off the bed. He turns his head so he doesn’t have to see the shadow by his desk. “They’ve been… calls and texts but I… I turned my phone off.”

His dad sighs, “Stop moping. Please. And go to school.”

“Aren’t you…?” Stiles tilts his head, “I _killed_ people, dad.”

“For the love of god stop saying that,” his dad winces, “Do you want me to have to arrest you? Look,” he takes a deep breath, then steps into the room. It looks like it physically pains him, but he crosses over and sits down on Stiles’ bed. Stiles turns to face him, then ducks his eyes nervously. “Stiles.” His dad says quietly.

He looks up.

“We’ve pinned it all on Kate,” the Sheriff says quietly, “All of it. Including your kidnapping. It helps that they found traces of your blood beneath the Hale house.”

“But Peter and I…?”

“But Peter is dead,” the Sheriff says firmly, he grasps Stiles’ hand, and Stiles can feel the connection, the solid anchor and around him the world is fuzzy and pleasant. “Peter killed those people, Stiles. Not you. Peter.”

Stiles can’t talk. There’s a lump in his throat.

“Go to school, Stiles. Talk to Scott.” His dad looks earnest, “Talk to Lydia. Talk to Allison. Talk to them all.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles huffs quietly, “Allison may stab me again.”

His dad pats him on the shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but his support is there. Stiles knows his dad isn’t happy about any of what occurs. Nobody would be. But his dad accepts what he did, and to some extent has forgiven him.

Stiles doesn’t think he deserves it. If he’s being honest he doesn’t want it, but at this point he’ll take anything he can get.

Because his dad stands, hand leaving Stiles’ skin and the world rushes back in, every sound and smell screaming in his ears.

“Go to school,” his dad whispers in the doorway before vanishing into the maelstrom of noise. With a sigh Stiles shoves the bed covers back, gaze skimming over the room for his school stuff.

“I guess you’ll be needing these again, then.” The figure perched on his desk drawls; fingers tapping on a pair of headphones where they sit perched on his computer. Stiles stares at them, but doesn’t look at the man.

He’s not even real. He can’t be real. It’s all in Stiles’ head and it’s just a testament to how messed up he is.

Because Peter Hale is dead.

That, at least, is one good thing that came out of everything.

 

The dress hangs straight and black in the darkness of her locker. It makes her stomach churn a little; because she knows that wearing it is going to be a lie. Black should suggest mourning.

And while Allison is just a little bit sad that she is never going to see her almost-sister again, the main emotion she is feeling should not be relief.

“Nice dress,” someone says, eyeing it up and down. He has the sort of look that might suggest that he’s imagining her in it.

“Nice camera,” she waves at the expensive looking thing hanging around his neck. He looks happy, and so she takes that as a win, turning back to her locker.

Voices drift over and she pauses, hand out. “Not her sister,” someone whispers, “Her _aunt_. The one who murdered all those people.”

Her outstretched hand clenches into a fist. Kate had murdered people, true, but stupidly enough not the ones those people are thinking of.

Another girl leans over, “You mean the crazy bitch who killed all those people?” she says in disbelief.

“Yeah, the fire, all those animal attacks… it was her _aunt_.”

It’s always going to be like this now, Allison thinks. Everyone is going to hear her name and think of her aunt. They’ll think she’s the same, because she has the same blood running through their veins.

But she’s not the same.

Allison _protects_ people.

“Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English.”

“Find a new seat,” the first girl whispers, scoffing in disgust.

A locker slams closed and Allison flinches. Angry words ring out.

But they’re not directed to her.

“Are you really as stupid as you look? Do you really think that just because she knew Kate, that she’s anything like her? I met Kate. She’s like everyone else at first glance. Did you think Allison had anything to do with those murders? You think she even knew about them?”

Allison spins around, and then stares. Because it’s Stiles. It’s Stiles standing there, glaring at the two gossiping girls who are regarding him with open mouths.

She hasn’t seen Stiles since he limped off on Friday night, battered and still dripping black blood from where her blades had been stabbed into his arms.

Now he stands in front of her. It’s the middle of the week, and Scott had attempted to visit Stiles, only to be turned away from a sad eyed Sheriff.

 _“He knows.”_ Scott had told her, “ _Stiles told his dad. The Sheriff knows.”_

“Didn’t you spend the weekend in the trunk of a car?” one of the girls narrows her eyes at Stiles. “Wasn’t it her _aunt_ that kidnapped you?” the girl’s eyes glance between Stiles and Allison and back.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than gossip and spread rumours?” Stiles sneers, stepping forwards.

The girl laughs, “Did you know it was her aunt?” she asks, “Did you tell the police or did you keep quiet?”

“How about you shut up?!” Stiles takes another step forwards, and there is just enough of a snarl in his voice for Allison to move to intercept him. She grabs onto his upper arm without thinking, tugging him backwards.

“Stiles, don’t. Stiles - leave it alone…”

He yanks his arm out of her grip, other hand flying to hold onto the place she had grabbed him. He meets her gaze, eyes wide. He looks both terrified and assessing, “Don’t touch me,” he snaps, stumbling backwards slightly.

“Weird,” the second girl mutters, slinking away from them. “You guys are _weird.”_

Stiles’ shoulders hunch in on themselves, defensively. He ducks his head, beginning to turn away. He’s just stepped in and taken the brunt of the anger and gossip from the pupils and that…?

Allison is grateful for it.

“Stiles, wait.” She slams her locker closed and Stiles flinches slightly. He’s shaking his head, grabbing onto his bag’s strap for support and turning away. “Thank you.” she blurts out.

He freezes. “Why?” his voice is hoarse, “Why are you thanking me?”

Allison glances in the direction the girls had vanished. “For defending me. You of all people didn’t have to.”

His face grows cold, “What do you mean ‘me of all people’?” he frowns, stepping backwards again away from her, “You know what? Never mind. Just… just… drop it.”

He spins away, and Allison shoulders her bag, stepping after him, “Stiles, wait.” He doesn’t stop, so she just keeps up after him, “I’ve got to go to a funeral this afternoon with cameras and people watching me and judging me and it just helps to know that at least someone supports me.”

Stiles has his head ducked, still walking away.

“This afternoon I have to go and cry for a woman I don’t miss. I have to go and put on a farce for my parents.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Stiles snaps at her over his shoulder.

“I’m trying to say ‘thank you’.” Allison speeds up her pace, “Just accept it.”

Stiles stops so suddenly, whirling around until he is nose to nose with her. “Are you _grateful_?” he frowns, “Are you happy that our little deal worked out? That Peter got Kate killed, and then Scott and Derek arrived in time to get Peter killed? Are you going to go to a funeral of a woman you helped _kill_?”

“Are you happy Peter’s dead?” Allison gives up trying to thank Stiles for sticking up for her. She lashes out, “Are you happy now you no longer have to kill anybody or do you miss that?”

Stiles’ face twists between several expressions quickly. Emotions flash across his face: shock, hurt, want, pain, anger. His eyes flicker up and he opens his mouth to reply, but something stops him. His head tilts to one side as if he’s listening to someone or something, gaze flicking over her shoulder to something.

Allison glances over her shoulder, but the corridor is empty. She turns back, just as the door behind Stiles opens.

“Stiles?”

Stiles is still facing her, so Allison is able to watch the way the blood literally drains out of his face. His shoulders stiffen and his head ducks slightly. It looks unnatural on Stiles. Wrong.

Behind him Scott is standing in the door way to the locker room, eyes wide and fixed on Stiles. There is tension that crackles in the air as Stiles glances slowly and hesitantly over his shoulder to Scott.

“Move it,” Jackson shoves his way out of the locker room, breaking the silence. Jackson doesn’t even look at Stiles, resolutely marching past the trio. He storms off and startled suddenly into moving, Scott steps backwards into the locker room out of the way.

“Are you back at school?” Scott asks, eagerly, “Dude, why didn’t you tell me? Coach was missing you. Your lacrosse shadow - what’s his name - he got piled up with paperwork about game strategies and…”

“And I didn’t think you’d want me back,” Stiles’ voice is still rough. It still sounds like he’s had claws scrape his throat out. It sounds broken, and Scott swallows, because even though he’s been avoiding them, the issues still sit between them unsaid.

“I--“ Scott gets cut off again as Danny and another guy push out. Stiles looks like he’s going to let them shove him away, use it as an excuse to vanish but then Coach spots him.

“Stilinski! Where the hell have you been? I need you over here! You and Lahey - we’re talking winning strategies!”

Stiles is wide-eyed and looks like a startled deer for a second, then he springs back so quickly Allison is surprised he isn’t experiencing whiplash. A smile breaks out across his face and he positively bounds forwards towards Coach.

It’s fake. But Allison can’t tell. If it wasn’t for the fact she knows Stiles is a bruised-eyed shaking wreck, she’d actually believe the lie.

“Hey Coach! I’m sorry I was off sick - you know, one of those winter vomiting bugs that you catch from snotty freshmen and has you puking every minute of the day--“

Allison steps forwards, ducking her head to talk to Scott. It’s a mere illusion of privacy, especially from Stiles, but at least nobody else will overhear. “Are you okay?” she asks.

Scott is gazing at Stiles with something akin to concern on his face, “Yes,” he frowns down at her, “Why wouldn’t I be? I mean… I know what happened and all but I… I don’t blame him.” He shakes his head, “Is he expecting us to turn our backs and ignore him or something?”

She shakes her head, “Is he okay, Scott? Have you guys talked?”

“Not since that night.”

“You need to speak to him.”

“His dad wouldn’t let me see him. He wasn’t taking calls or texts and I… I didn’t want to push things by using his window.”

“You use _my_ window.”

“Because your dad will _shoot_ me if I walk through your door.”

He stares at her, and she bites her lip, hating the reminder that they shouldn’t be here. They can’t be together because of what he is and her family. She remembers her dad’s gun, pressed to Scott’s temple. She remembers her mother snapping open her closet doors, as if she expected to find Scott hiding amongst her shirts or Derek randomly stalking her again.

There are only so many times Allison can sneak a werewolf into her room without getting caught.

And now her parents know what to look for.

“Argent, this is the boys changing rooms.” Finstock has finished talking to Stiles and is now frowning at where Allison stands with Scott.

“I’m aware of that,” Allison nods at the Coach, and then ignores him and proceeds to turn to where Stiles is fidgeting, hand moving impatiently, “The three of us need to talk about the other night.”

Finstock just looks from Scott to Stiles to Allison, back to Stiles, back to Allison and then to Scott again. “I’m not even going to ask,” he says, turning his back and walking away to his office, leaving them alone in the locker room. Allison blushes slightly, but focusses her gaze on Stiles.

“No, enough of you guys talking,” Stiles steps forwards, “It’s my turn, okay? Because first of all what do you want me to do now? Apologise? Say I’m sorry? I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got hurt. But I’m not sorry that Kate is dead. I’m not sorry that Peter killed all those people. Hell I’m not even sure if I’m sorry I killed those people.”

He pauses for a moment, eyes darting between them, and then to a third location before flicking back.

“But Peter’s dead. Peter’s dead and I don’t have a pack, anymore. I’m not joining Derek. I’m not… I… I don’t want anything to do with any more alphas or packs or anything.” His hand slashes across the air violently, “I told my dad. I told him everything. He doesn’t believe half of it, and when he does he doesn’t know what to think. But I can’t…” Stiles shakes his head, “I just can’t, anymore, Scott. I can’t.” He doesn’t even specify what he can’t. He just stops it there, gaze fixed on Scott.

“For what it’s worth,” Scott says, quietly. “I forgive you. For joining Peter, for stopping me that night…”

“I ripped you apart.” Stiles narrows his eyes at Scott.

“And then Allison stabbed you and left you for dead,” Scott sighs, “I think we all did things we regret.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles whispers again, but he steps backwards. He’s still isolating himself from them, defending himself from whatever they say or do. Allison remembers what it felt like to slide a blade across the beta werewolf’s flesh and how easy it was to pin him to the tree, swipes already weakening the moment the wolfsbane entered his system.

Scott shakes his head. “It’s not me you need to apologise to.” He says, finally, “It’s Lydia.”

 

“Some moral support this is,” Stiles frowns from where he is leaning behind a gravestone. He looks like he wants to make another sarcastic comment but refrains, glancing nervously instead at Scott.

It had been Scott’s idea after all, to drag Stiles to the funeral. Scott hasn’t seen Stiles since that night, and they haven’t really spoken yet about anything important. There’s not much to say, Scott thinks. What can he say apart from ‘I’m sorry Peter’s dead so your senses are out of whack again’ or ‘I forgive you for clawing up my intestines, especially considering I was trying to stab you with a tranquiliser at the time’?

Scott doesn’t say anything, crouched behind his own stone angel and peering around to where Allison is arriving. News crews hound the gates, and the police are there to keep them back, including Stiles’ dad.

Stiles’ dad. The Sheriff. Who knows about werewolves.

Scott’s surprised he didn’t answer the door with a gun when Scott showed up. Instead he just shook his head and relayed that Stiles didn’t want to see him. It was the same the second time. The third time the elder Stilinski finally stepped outside after Scott insisted the importance of the situation and told him that he knew.

Knew about werewolves. About Derek. About hunters. About Peter.

About the murders.

Scott glances over at where Stiles has his head tilted to one side, frowning slightly as he tries to focus his hearing on what the Argents are saying.

Because Peter’s dead now. Peter and Kate are dead and so they can move on and leave everything behind.

“God, that guy is creepy,” Stiles frowns at someone who is crouched down with a camera, “He was talking to Allison earlier but I don’t know his name. He’s one of Jackson’s clique.”

“You mean Matt?” Scott frowns at the photographer. He can hear the shutter and it’s almost continuous, picture after picture after…

Someone steps between them, dark clothing and a balding head. He looks down on Matt, standing straight but there is still something about him that looks crooked.  “This looks expensive,” he snatches the camera from around Matt’s neck, tilting it this way and that.

“Yeah,” Matt says, “Nine hundred bucks.” He looks nervous, and the older man just appears to enjoy that as he slides out a memory card.

“And how expensive is that?” he asks, seconds before he cracks it in half and tosses it to the floor, before handing the camera back. Scott winces, and the man turns. For a moment Scott is convinced the old man is looking right at him and he falls back, eyes wide. Stiles shoots him a funny look.

“Who the hell is that?”

Stiles stiffens, and Scott decides to not even get involved in this right now. Instead he turns to the new arrival, shrugging from where he has half fallen to the ground. “I have no idea.” He tells Lydia, where she crouches low to the ground in hiding, but still is wearing a ridiculously short skirt and heels.

“Gerard,” Stiles frowns, not looking at Lydia. “Chris called him Gerard. He’s definitely an Argent.” Stiles peers around his gravestone at where the old man is talking to Allison. Allison looks nervous, she keeps pushing her hair behind her ear and nodding.

“They could just be here for the funeral.” Lydia ducks her head, looking at where the Argent family sit, “Maybe they’re the non-hunting side of the family.”

Stiles scoffs and Lydia shoots him a glare. Scott just shakes his head, “They’re reinforcements,” he says, “This can never just end with one person’s death, because there’s always someone else out for revenge,” he glances at Stiles who is pointedly looking away.

Someone clears their throat behind them and Scott and Lydia jump. Stiles startles too, but relaxes quicker when he sees his dad standing there.

“Should I even ask?” the Sheriff looks from Scott to Lydia and then to Stiles.

Stiles shrugs, “I went to school.” He says, slightly petulantly. “I even talked to Scott. See?” he points to where Scott is still crouched behind the stone angel with Lydia.

The Sheriff does not look impressed. “I would drag you out of here, but I’ve been informed two of you are supernaturally inclined. So instead I’m going to look disapprovingly at you and you’re going to follow me.” He gestures at them to stand up, and after glancing towards where the service is taking place, Scott does so. Stiles follows more reluctantly, shrinking in on himself slightly as the Sheriff begins to move away, the three of them trailing behind him.

“Are you here for the funeral?” Lydia asks, curiously. “Do you know who that guy is?”

“Gerard Agent,” The Sheriff follows her gaze, “Chris and Kate’s father. And in part: I’m here for the funeral. The other part is that there was a grave desecration last night. This kid saw it. Some kid called Isaac Lahey.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, “Lahey?” he asks, “Number 14 lacrosse?”

“He said he played lacrosse. He had a black eye from it. A quiet kid though and doesn’t strike me as the type to get into a fight.”

“Isaac doesn’t play lacrosse.” Scott frowns, “He sits on the bench with Stiles.”

“What were you interviewing Isaac about?” Lydia frowns.

“A grave robbery.”

“What did they take? Jewellery?”

“No. A liver.”

 

“Why is there a liver missing?” Stiles frowns, his hands waving about in their usual dance as they come to a halt outside the Sheriff’s car.

“You think I know?” Lydia snaps, because she doesn’t have the answers. And there’s something about Stiles that just puts her on edge.

“Who the hell would take a liver?” Stiles just keeps talking. He hasn’t looked at Lydia once since she appeared to find Scott. She hadn’t been expecting Stiles to be there at all, but she remembers the last time she saw him, the way he had all but broken down as the alpha had burned.

“Dude, I don’t know.” Scott shrugs.

“Do you think it’s supernatural?” Stiles asks, “I mean… I didn’t get any cravings at all…”

“I just thought about Allison,” Scott reflects soppily. “A lot.”

“Maybe,” Lydia reasons, “Maybe there are some monsters that eat human flesh…”

The Sheriff frowns at them, but then his radio buzzes and he leans forwards to answer it. “I didn’t copy that.” He frowns.

“4-1-5-Adam.”

“Did you say 4-1-5 Adam?” The Sheriff is frowning.

“Disturbance in a car,” Stiles tells Scott and Lydia, focussed on his dad with a sudden single mindedness that makes Lydia feel sorry for how much Stiles cares for his one remaining parent.

The radio buzzes again. “They were taking a heart attack victim - D.O.A. But on the way to the hospital, something hit 'em.”

“What?” The Sheriff blinks, “Hit the ambulance?”

“Copy that. I'm standing in front of it right now. Something got in the back. There's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere.”

“All right, unit 4, what's your 20?”

“Route 5 and post. I swear, I've never seen anything like this.”

“All right, take it easy. I'm on my way.”

Scott exchanges a look with Stiles that Lydia doesn’t miss. She shakes her head. “No.” she tells them both, “No, we are not checking this out. That is final.”

 

“I hate you guys.” Lydia slips out of the Sheriff’s cruiser, and Scott follows. Stiles clambers out of the passenger door, hanging onto it as he stares to where the ambulance sits.

“Okay, you three have to stay back,” Stiles’ dad tells them, “I shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place…”

“But you need the perspective.” Stiles argues, “Because what if this was a werewolf or something.”

Stiles’ dad closes his eyes, “Just because I’ve accepted you’re a werewolf, doesn’t mean I immediately assume each and every crime is supernatural in origin before looking at the most likely normal option. So you three stay back. Scram. When I’ll finish I’ll give you a lift back.”

“That’s disgusting,” Lydia catches a glimpse of the blood coated ambulance and turns away. Next to her Stiles twitches slightly, but steps backwards, watching as his dad heads forwards towards the scene of the crime. He doesn’t take his eyes off his father, watching attentively. “Nothing is going to get him,” Lydia says, quietly, “Your dad can look after himself.”

Stiles says nothing, which is rare for him. He just glances at her silently.

“Hey… guys… I think I see something.” Scott stumbles a few steps off into the woods. Lydia turns, and she catches a glimpse of something running quickly through the trees.

“Scott, don’t.” She gets out, but Scott’s already gone, feet pounding on the ground as he takes off.

Stiles turns, eyes wide, “Oh what now?” he asks in exasperation. He looks torn, glancing between his dad and Scott’s vanishing form before with a frustrated growl he takes off after Scott.

Lydia doesn’t even hesitate.

She takes off after him.

 

“Well this is great.” Lydia slows to a halt next to where Stiles has his eyes closed, trying to locate Scott but his face in scrunched up in a manner that suggests his senses are processing too much information to be able to pinpoint his friend. “You lost him.”

Stiles’ eyes flash open, flaring blue, “Scott’s the one who took off.” He snapped.

“And you’re a werewolf,” Lydia rolls her eyes, “You should be able to keep up with him.”

“Why don’t you track him then,” Stiles scoffs, “If you know what werewolves should be able to do.”

Lydia swallows and Stiles’ eyes widen. He steps backwards, and Lydia is grateful for the space as she tries not to think about the wound on her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispers, and she has no idea what he’s apologising for. Except she thinks she does.

“Don’t.” she shakes her head, “It’s over. Peter’s dead. I set him alight.”

Stiles laughs, weakly, “Peter may be dead, but I’m not. Are you going to burn me alive too?” he’s overdramatic, Lydia thinks, and then decides to just go for it. She tugs up the sleeve of her jacket, and shows Stiles the bandages.

“I didn’t heal,” she says, “I haven’t turned.” Stiles’ eyes are fixed on the bite uncomprehending. She spells it out for him. “I’m not a werewolf.”

 

“So what are you then?” Stiles trips his way after Lydia as they wander around the woods looking for Scott. “Peter told me the bite either turns you or kills you.”

Lydia just snorts, “Well in case you didn’t notice: Peter likes to lie.”

“He said it was a disease. Maybe you’re immune to it or something?” Stiles frowns, “Maybe your body is strong enough to fight off the virus and not die. Maybe your blood has special antibodies that actually hold the key to a cure.”

“Do you want a cure?” Lydia turns, and Stiles unconsciously grabs at her hand to tug her out of the way of a tree she almost walks into. She falls towards him and he catches her, supporting her and she freezes, breath catching in her throat.

Then she pulls away. He sighs, “No,” he shakes his head, “I don’t know, I mean… Scott does.”

“I wasn’t asking about Scott,” Lydia pauses to look at Stiles, really look at him for the first time since the formal. Since they spent a good portion of that lip-locked, right up until Peter sank his teeth into her wrist and stole her date for the night.

Stiles is pale. There are dark shadows under his eyes and he doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping. Lydia hasn’t sleep well, but at least she knows how to cover it up. As if aware of her gaze Stiles looks up at her, and for a moment she realises just how vulnerable Stiles is.

Then his gaze hardens and he straightens, stepping forwards, “I don’t want a cure,” he says. Lydia wishes she had turned if only so she would have the werewolf hearing to tell if he’s lying or not.

She steps past him, “Do you miss having a pack?” she asks him.

There’s a pause as Stiles picks his way over a tree branch after her, “It’s easier in a pack. You’re stronger.”

“Like strength in numbers.”

“No, literally faster and stronger.”

“Derek’s the alpha now. Are you going to join his pack?” Lydia asks, curiously. “Would that make him stronger?”

“I don’t want to be in Derek’s pack,” Stiles chokes out, “Not after he… No. Just no.”

Lydia hums, “What about us? Do we count as pack even though we’re human?”

“Would you count me as pack?” Stiles’ voice twists, “Do you even count me as a friend anymore?”

She sighs, and kicks at a stone sitting on the ground. It rolls away with a clink. “I’m not longer in the mood to make out with you,” she points out, because that’s true. She doesn’t think she could trust Stiles for that. Not to mention Stiles would bring in emotions that she hadn’t even known existed towards her. She doesn’t need those complications, “But friends? Yeah. We’re friends.”

“But what--“ Stiles pauses, then shouts out suddenly, alarmed, “Wait, Lydia!”

“What?” she asks impatiently, spinning around to him, eyes wide. Stiles isn’t staring at her, he’s staring past her.

“How the hell did we get here?” he whispers, as if he hasn’t even been aware of where he’s been walking, “Lydia… this is the _Hale_ House.”

She turns around. He’s right. The house is as wrecked as ever and now there are extra holes from the fight with the alpha last week. There are also bullet holes everywhere. Lydia finds herself drawn to the place, and her fingers trace the door. It creaks gently open under her touch.

There are footsteps behind her and Stiles stumbles in after her, “Seriously?” he hisses, “This place gives me the creep.” He mumbles, “I don’t think Scott’s here.”

Lydia keeps moving. She feels like she’s in a trance, muscles moving without her really being aware of it. She steps forwards, turning to the room that is the most destroyed, furniture shattered and the window broken in. There is a mirror and over it trails a deep purple flower.

It creeps down and down to the floor, where the boards looks clawed up and as if they’ve been rearranged slightly, to accommodate something underneath. Lydia edges around the spot, staring down at it. The smell of earth is strong enough that even her human nose can smell it, but it’s mixed with the bitter scent of ash.

She glances up. Stiles still stands in the doorway but his gaze is fixed on the same patch of floor she had been examining. He looks up at her, and their gazes meet. The odd patch of floor sits in the middle of that, and Lydia thinks it’s ironic that it separates them, even in death.

Because Lydia knows that underneath the floorboards and wrapped in wolfsbane lies Peter Hale’s body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So like I promised, this is my AU extended in s2. Don't expect daily updates until I've got a bit more written. I'm currently working on e06-09 in one big block with everything planned out, so once I've got that out the way I may revert back to daily updates.
> 
> And what you see now between Stiles and the others isn't going to last. He's pretty much just going to go off and do his own thing for a bit.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this!


	2. War

The shape is fast. Whatever it is, it blurs between the trees, and Scott just chases right after it. The thing moves a bit like an animal, spinning and circling around until Scott’s no longer sure where he is, just that he’s still giving chase.

Whatever he’s chasing turns again, and this time Scott predicts the turn, angling himself to cut the shape off. He leaps through the trees and barrels into a warm body that growls and twists away. Scott rolls over, rising to a crouch, and the thing snarls at him.

It’s eyes glow yellow and it’s face is elongated and teeth bared in a snarl.

“You’re a werewolf!” Scott gasps out, feeling his own eyes glow.

It doesn’t help. The other creature looks terrified, bolting.

“Wait!” Scott leaps after the werewolf, giving chase again. He’s lost Lydia and Stiles, and it’s just him against the potentially dangerous werewolf that has wandered into Beacon Hills. The land falls away beneath his feet, sloping down to the river that runs below the outlook. The other werewolf is gaining ground, and so Scott runs faster, runs harder.

It’s exhilarating, and strength roars in his veins as he forces himself forwards. Leaves and trees blur by as he speeds up, catching up to the other werewolf.

The soil has given way to rocks and the stranger leaps upwards, sliding slightly and then leaping down. Scott makes to follow, hand finding a claw hold in the river-smooth stone and tugging himself up when there is a yowl of surprise.

Scott pulls himself up, just in time to see the strange wolf’s body twist as something yanks him up into the air by his foot. Hands scramble violently, and Scott makes to move forwards, to see what has caught the stranger.

A hand clamps down over his mouth, tugging him backwards. Scott lashes out, but the grip holding him is werewolf strong and his frantic kicking does nothing to stop himself being dragged backwards.

“Shut up and keep quiet.” Derek hisses in his ear.

Scott stops struggling, but keeps his gaze fixed on where the other werewolf is hanging in the air, “Let me go,” he snaps, “I can help him.”

Derek doesn’t move, “He’s beyond help,” he says grimly, “They’re already here.”

Scott makes one last ditch attempt to break free, but Derek spins him around, slamming him against a tree.

“Quiet.” Derek snarls, and Scott finally stills, holding his breath as he hears Chris Argent’s voice, echoing through the woods.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Chris demands to where the wolf hangs upside down. The werewolf shakes his head, babbling useless nonsense, “You’re not even from here,” Chris sneers, “So why are you here?”

“I was looking for the Alpha,” the werewolf begs, “I was just looking for the Alpha!” Scott looks at Derek, wondering if this wolf was looking for Derek or for Peter. “I didn’t hurt anyone, I swear! I only took from the dead - I haven’t killed anyone! Please don’t hurt me!”

Then a new voice chimes up and Derek’s grip relaxes just enough for Scott to twist and see who it is.

“Gentlemen,” Gerard Argent smiles at the other hunters, “Take a look at this rare sight. A lone wolf. What do we call that?”

“An Omega,” Chris steps backwards, and the big, scary father of the girl Scott wants to date suddenly looks like a kitten in comparison to where Gerard is still smirking.

“Omegas have no pack. Whether he was kicked out or the last one left of his pack, well… who knows. He might even be alone by his own choice, but it’s not a wise decision. Because - as I am about to demonstrate - without a pack Omega’s have no strength.”

And then he raises the shape in his hand. It’s a sword. A broadsword. And Scott feels sick, because he remembers how Peter framed Laura’s death as a hunter attack. He remembers seeing her lifeless eyes and waist that just ended.

The sword swings through the air and Scott looks away. He can still hear the sound, the way the bones crack cleanly and the tissue tears. The blade must be sharp, he thinks, so sharp to be able to do that. And the skill it takes to position the blade between the vertebrae means Gerard must have had years of practise.

“You see that?” Derek growls out, “Do you know what that is? That’s a declaration of war.” Scott watches, sickened as Gerard turns away. Even Chris looks uncomfortable. “Now do you see?” Derek hisses, “Now do you see what they’re like?”

“I know what they’re like,” Scott shoves Derek off him, “Allison isn’t like that.”

“I’m not talking about Allison,” Derek actually rolls his eyes at Scott, “I’m talking about pack. About you and Stiles. I need a pack.” His eyes flare up red then die again, as if it was an attempt to remind Scott of his new alpha powers, “I need a pack and you need an alpha.”

“I don’t need you,” Scott snaps, angrily, “I don’t want to be in your pack - okay? We got you your alpha power. And Peter’s dead.”

“And how long do you think you’re going to survive on your own, huh?” Derek glares at him. “How long do you think Stiles is going to last before his senses drive him mad?”

In the background the other hunters are dropping the body down. It falls with a wet thump. Gerard isn’t even looking at it; he’s turned to his son. “Go check the other traps, Christopher,” Gerard drawls, “And if there is anything in them you deal with them. Be they wounded and weak, or young and seemingly harmless, be they desperate souls with no idea about what they’re getting themselves into they’re already dead, understand?”

“We have a code,” Chris actually protests, weakly.

“They murdered my daughter,” Gerard’s eyes are like steel, “What code is there that can bring her back? From now on - these things are just bodies waiting to be cut in half. Because we’ll find them. We’ll kill them. We kill them all.”

 

His alpha is dead.

Stiles now knows where he’s buried.

“That’s just morbid,” his hallucination of Peter drawls, and Stiles just ignores him, instead looking up at Lydia.

“Why are we here?” he asks, voice shaky, “Scott’s not here… we should… we should go and check the liver-eating monster hasn’t… hasn’t eaten him.”

“I…” Lydia seems just as lost for words as he is. She skirts the edge of the floor, unwilling to go anywhere  near the place the body is buried. She stops next to him, eyes still fixed on that one spot. “Yeah,” she says faintly, but makes no effort to move.

Stiles glances back and frowns, stepping closer. He can scent the wolfsbane, and wonders if it goes all the way around the body. He’s about to take another step forwards, when Lydia’s thin hand closes on his wrist. “Don’t.” she whispers, eyes wide. Her hand slips off his wrist, and instead she sinks her shaky fingers into Stiles’ shirt, stumbling backwards. Stiles goes with her, tearing his gaze from the floor and guiding her out. They drag each other, and both of them just need to get out of there right now, as soon as possible, before one of them does something they’ll regret.

“You’re right,” she says, when the front door bursts open, “This place is creepy.”

Stiles shivers, stumbling off the steps, “You’re telling me,” he doesn’t turn back, doesn’t even want to know, “Let’s… let’s just go and find Scott.”

“I don’t even know how we ended up here.”

“I was following you.”

“No.” Lydia pauses, frowning. “I was following you. Wasn’t I?”

“No?” Stiles isn’t actually sure and he turns back to Lydia, and as he does so he feels something beneath his foot shift. There is a startled scream and Stiles suddenly feels the ground pulled away from beneath him. He flails, arms scrambling for support but he’s hanging in mid-air, the world the wrong way round.

“Stiles!” Lydia steps into view, but she’s swinging back and forth, “Wait there. I… you stepped on a tripwire. I’ll go figure out how to get it down…”

Stiles’ stomach rolls as he swings a bit, “Don’t mind me,” he coughs out, “I’ll just hang around here for a bit.” He laughs weakly at his joke. Lydia swings out and back into view. There are dark legs strolling forwards and Stiles blinks, trying to clear the fuzziness from his vision. Lydia has turned around to face the approaching legs.

“Lydia,” Chris Argent’s disapproving voice sounds out. Stiles finds that tilting his head slightly to one side helps with the sickness slightly. “Stiles,” Chris sighs, focussing on where he hangs.

“Mr Argent,” he says, still upside down, “Did you change your mind about killing me? Way to give a guy false hope.”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Lydia scolds, then glances nervously, but still determinedly at Chris. “Are these even legal?” she gestures at Stiles hanging in the trap.

“You know what we’re actually looking to catch.” Chris sighs, and in the background two other hunters shift nervously.  Chris himself looks nervous, and Stiles curls his claws into his palm, judging how quickly he could get free.

“What are you doing here?” Lydia asks.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I asked first.”

Chris is stumped by the immature response. So he decides to circumnavigate Lydia, stepping forwards until he’s frowning down at Stiles. “I thought you were clever, Stiles. Clever enough to avoid the woods. Especially now.”

“Why?” Stiles drawls, “Because your daddy’s here? Should I be scared of him?”

“Do you know what a hemicorporectomy is?”

“It’s when they…” Stiles and Lydia stop, and Stiles is still attached by his ankle to a tree, but they spoke at the same time.

“When someone is amputated at the waist,” Lydia sniffs, and then steps protectively closer to Stiles, “Don’t even think about it.”

“I won’t.” Chris straightens up, “But my father? He’s already killed one omega tonight, and he won’t hesitate to do it again. He’s won’t be as lenient as I am.”

“Yeah?” Stiles moves then, claws out and Chris actually goes for his belt as Stiles lands on his feet, stumbling slightly but the right way up, “Well neither am I.” he glances at Lydia, “Come on.” He tells her, “Let’s go test out the other traps Argent’s spread around the woods.”

She falls into step behind him, “That one wasn’t bad. I’d give it a five out of ten.”

“Four. He loses marks because I got out.”

Chris watches them go, but neither Stiles nor Lydia look back.

 

The note is crumpled and bent, but Allison holds it tightly in her fist. She’s smiling and feels slightly ridiculous walking around grinning like an idiot, but she’s just so happy.

 _Because I love you._ That’s what the words read, and even though her parents disapprove, even though Scott appears terrified of her grandfather for some reason, they are still managing to make it work.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” Jackson stops off at his locker next to hers. In comparison to her - he is frowning. He looks sour, like he’s swallowed a lemon.

“Why are you in such a bad one?” she asks him, spinning around and leaning on her locker watching his brisk movements. Her smile falters somewhat, “What’s up? Full moon tonight?”

Jackson growls, but it’s completely human. His locker slams closed. “According to Derek I don’t have to worry about that.” He snaps, “Derek said it didn’t work.” Jackson grinds out as if it physically pains him. “The bite.”

She straightens, glancing up and down the corridor, then back to Jackson. “ _Derek_? When did you see Derek?”

“He found me at school. I… I started having a nosebleed, but I was dripping black blood.”

“Derek’s stalking you too now?” Allison frowns, “I think being creepy must be in the Hale genetics.”

Jackson shrugs, “Asshole said I was with him - part of his pack or whatever. I told him I didn’t want to be because he was a rubbish leader.”

That’s true. Derek is a rubbish leader. When he had been working with them it had been Scott and Lydia making the plans. Now he’s an alpha and Allison hasn’t seen him since then. That’s actually a kind of relief, because she doesn’t need another werewolf visiting her through her bedroom window. One is more than enough. “I thought you wanted to be a werewolf,” she teases him, “Running in the woods, howling at the moon, snarling and growling and…”

“No.” Jackson shakes his head, sneering, “That’s what Stilinski and McCall do, okay? Me? I have my own agenda. Had.”

“Had?”

“Derek said the bite didn’t take. That my body was fighting it,” Jacksons sighs, “I don’t know. But I guess we’ll really see tonight.” He lifts up a camera bag. “I borrowed this from Matt.”

“That photographer dude?”

“Yeah. He charged me a hundred bucks for it, but that’s nothing. It’s set for night filming and I? I am going to document history.”

Allison wrinkles her nose, “Are you going to film yourself having sex?”

“No.” Jackson snaps, “I’m recording history.” He repeats, stubbornly.

“Have you spoken to Lydia?”

“We’re not dating anymore,” Jackson shrugs, “So no.”

“She wants to get back together with you.”

“Still no.”

“She isn’t turning.”

“Turning?” he frowns, “Into what…?”

“A unicorn,” she laughs, “What do you think, dumbass? Lydia hasn’t turned either. She doesn’t know what went wrong, but she’s happy. Do you think Derek is giving defective bites?”

That only makes Jackson more pissed, “Peter bit Lydia,” he points out, “I don’t know what went wrong,” he seems determined, “But I’m going to find out what.” He turns away, slinging the camera bag and his own bag onto his shoulder, “Oh, and Allison?”

“Yeah?” she turns back to look at him.

“If you and McCall are planning on keeping your relationship secret then you shouldn’t go around looking so in love all the time.” He smiles at her, “It’s very obvious.” He spins around and walks away, and Allison finds herself glaring at his smug walk.

 

“Derek? Derek!”

The kid has taken to the bite as well as can be expected. He’s a good start and he’ll be loyal, Derek knows that. The kid is loyal to his dad to stick with the abusive asshole for all these years, and now with the healing Isaac might stay for longer.

Well he would. Except his father is dead.

Isaac stares at him with wide eyes, looking like the same lost puppy that Derek pulled out of a grave the other day. There is a dead omega killed by hunters on his territory and Scott and Stiles aren’t talking to him.

Well Scott isn’t. Stiles on the other hand isn’t an issue Derek wants to touch with a ten foot pole because he’s still not sure if Stiles is still going to rip his throat out or not. That’s not even the least of his problems.

Lydia didn’t turn. Neither did Jackson. Derek has no idea what to do with werewolf bites not taking. Isaac’s took, so why didn’t theirs?

And there are hunters. Hunters with broadswords who are killing on his territory.

“I didn’t do it,” Isaac tells him, stumbling slightly as he moves towards Derek, “I didn’t kill my dad.” He’s shaking his head and there are tears in his eyes. Because he’s telling the truth. He didn’t do it.

But something did.

Derek thinks his problems have just gotten a lot worse.

 

Stiles gets changed next to Scott, and the conversation is stilted.

“And then he cut him in half,” Scott repeats for about the hundredth time. “With a sword.”

“You said,” Stiles drawls, tugging on a shoe without undoing the laces. The boot refuses to go on so he has to bend over reluctantly to untie them. The full moon itches under his skin, and every loud noise makes him wince. He should have stayed at home, he thinks, but it wouldn’t have made any difference. His dad is working all day, but at least his father will be there for the night when the moon rises.

Stiles will be fine. He spent his first full moon curled up with his father and there had been no maiming. No killing.

The second one he had spent with a serial killing werewolf, but he was trying not to think about that.

“What if I lose control again?” Scott says, “And I go running through the woods? And they catch me?”

“I thought you said you had stuff to chain you down? And weren’t you going to be with Allison, anyway?”

Scott sighs mournfully, “If she can get out, yeah. I mean… already it’s better than last month. But!” he brightens, standing and hopping from the bench to his locker, “Lydia gave me some stuff in case it got too bad!” he yanks open his locker door and there is a rattle as a chain slides out.

And slides out. And some more.

There are metres of the stuff and Stiles stands, watching as it continues to pour out. Scott looks embarrassed, even more so when the last metre clinks out and Coach stops next to Scott, looking from the chain to Scott and then to Stiles.

And Stiles just can’t help himself, “Do you want Allison or me to chain you up this time?” he asks, smile fighting at the corner of his lips.

Coach chokes, turning a funny purple colour, “I don’t even want to know,” he says and walks off.

“Good idea Coach! Wise idea!” Stiles calls after him.

Scott turns, looking from Stiles to Coach and back, “Dude!” he hisses, wide-eyed. “Dude - now he thinks I’m in some sort of threesome with you and Allison!”

“You what?” Danny freezes, walking past.

“Nothing!” Scott’s voice squeaks slightly, “Oh my god, Stiles help me get rid of these. We’re giving them back to Lydia!”

“Does Lydia use those with her new boyfriend?”

“Her new boyfriend?”

“Yeah, the broody guy with eyebrows.”

“ _Derek_? _What_?”

“ _No_.”

“Oh my god,” Scott shoves the chain back into his locker, face bright red, “This is not… we’re not… Lydia and Derek aren’t…” he pauses, “Are they?”

“ _No_.”

Danny laughs, seeming to take joy from their pain.

Stiles turns back to his bag, grabbing his clipboard, especially as he’s probably going to spend the practise benched again. He looks up, scanning around to see where Isaac is. He spots the curly haired boy, and for once Isaac smells normal. No bruises or blood or the scent of fear clinging to him.

There’s something else though, and Stiles lingers for a moment, staring at the other kid. There are so many other scents permeating the air that it takes him a moment to place Isaac’s scent from the others.

He smells like Derek.

Like wolf.

“Hey,” Scott is frowning, “What is… is that another?”

“Another what?” Stiles is still staring at Isaac.

“Another _werewolf_?” Scott is glancing up and down the lockers. “I think… I think there’s another werewolf in here.”

Yeah, Stiles wants to say, glancing back to where Isaac is getting changed nervously, and he thinks he knows who.

 

“Hey,” Stiles drops down next to Isaac on the bench.

“Uh… hey…” Isaac looks up and then down again.

Stiles turns to face him, staring long enough that Isaac gets uncomfortable, looking back up at him. The moment he does Stiles lets his eyes flash blue.

“So when did ya’ chat to Derek, huh?” he asks, as Isaac’s own eyes flare gold in response. Isaac is gaping at him, he realises. “Because he and I? I want a word with Mr. Alpha.” Isaac just looks nervous, ducking his head. “Woah…” Stiles rests one hand on Isaac’s arm, but Isaac flinches away, “Nothing bad,” Stiles lies.

Isaac is newly turned enough not to notice though.

“I… he didn’t tell me about you.”

“Didn’t he?” Stiles considers that, “Did he tell you anything?”

“A-about the hunters, yeah…”

“Isaac?” Scott stands nearby, gaping at them. He glares at Stiles, “Dude, thanks for telling me. I was seconds away from sniffing the whole lacrosse team.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, “Ugh, don’t do that. They all stink. Except Danny. Danny wears Armani. Expensive, but smells nice.”

Scott levels him a look, “You sniff the lacrosse team?”

Stiles waves a hand in the air, “Full moon, hello?” he blinks innocently at Scott, “My…” he swallows, “My senses are out of whack again.”

“Oh.” Scott says, quietly, “I… I forget.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. Next to him Isaac shifts uncomfortably.

“You won’t… you won’t tell anyone? Please… please don’t tell anyone.” The new werewolf ducks his head, and he’s terrified. He’s scared and Stiles can’t quite work out what is wrong but…

“Stiles,” Scott’s voice is distant, staring at something, “What’s your dad doing here?”

Stiles is surprised he hadn’t noticed yet, but considering the whistle Coach is blowing, it shouldn’t really be surprising. He looks up, spotting his dad and two deputies. They are strolling across the field towards him.

Not towards him.

Next to him, Isaac shrinks a little bit more into himself.


	3. Moon

“Derek bit Isaac?” Scott asks again, “But why would he do that?”

Stiles shrugs, “You think I know?” he asks, ducking his head to rub at the back of his neck. The longer hair cut tickles awkwardly, “And he’s murdered his father.”

“Suspected murder-suspect,” Scott corrects, because he’s not the sort of person to make assumptions.

Stiles shrugs, “It doesn’t make much difference. They can hold him for 24 hours provided they have a witness.” Scott’s face falls and his friend just nods, “That’s right. They can hold him overnight in a holding cell. During the full moon.”

He really wants to punch Derek. The alpha had given no hint that he was going to bite a teenager last night. Did Isaac know what he was getting himself into?

“Oh thank god,” Lydia stops in front of them, high heels clicking to a halt, “Do you know who our new principal is?”

“We have a new principal?” Scott asks, because he’s not sure how that’s vaguely relevant to their current problem. That being a potentially homicidal newly turned werewolf being locked up in the Police Station.

“Yes,” his heart races as Allison pauses next to them. It’s dangerous, being near her, for both him and her. Scott doesn’t know how far her family will take their threats but he knows he doesn’t want to find out. “My grandfather,” Allison shifts uncomfortably.

Stiles is staring with a dazed look at some un-see able point, and that suggests he’s trying to hear something in the distance. Judging by the way he keeps wincing, it’s not working.

“But what about our old principal?” Scott frowns.

“They said he had a horrible accident.” The red-head announces airily.

Allison sighs, “You mean they tortured him into quitting?” she said, sounding disgusted, “God… I…” she shakes her head, and not for the first time Scott really feels for her, for having family that don’t trust her and having a legacy she has to live up to.

He remembers the way Allison had dropped her bow from being aimed at Peter’s throat and in that split second Peter had lunged. But not at her. At her aunt.

But Scott doesn’t want to think about that. Because that - Allison wouldn’t do something like that. Not on purpose.

Would she?

“We’ve got another problem,” Stiles’ eyes snap into focus, “Jackson.”

“What about him?” Lydia’s head snaps around to face Stiles, “Stiles?”

Stiles fiddles with the shoulder strap of his bag, “Jackson is talking to my dad. About Isaac.”

“Isaac Lahey?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “He’s a werewolf.”

Lydia sighs and Allison gapes, “Derek bit him?”

Scott nods, “But his father’s dead. He’s a suspect.”

“They can’t hold him,” Allison frowns, “He’s a teenager.”

“It’s the full moon tonight,” Stiles scratches again at his wrist, looking uncomfortable, “And Jackson is providing a witness statement so that they can hold Isaac for twenty-four hours. He…” Stiles frowns, “Did you know Isaac was being abused?” he looks at the other three.

Scott feels a stab in his gut. He barely knew Isaac. Not even Stiles who had spent a good portion of the last month sharing bench space with Lahey knew the kid well.

“Wait wait wait crap,” Stiles’ eyes are widening and Scott looks at where Stiles stumbles backwards. “Principal heading here right now like right now. As in scary hunter Principal who is Allison’s grandfather…”

“Oh crap,” Allison bursts into movement, and she almost trips into Stiles as the pair begin making a quick getaway down the corridor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Splitting up,” Lydia tells him, airily, “I have advanced math anyway, so I need to go. We’re leaving you for dead,” she smiles and brushes past him.

Scott looks around, trying to remember what lesson he actually has. There is barely anybody in the corridor. Stiles and Allison are vanishing around one corner to head to what Scott thinks is history, and he turns, beginning to head to biology.

And almost proceeds to walk right into Gerard Argent. “I’m sorry,” Scott stutters out an apology, mentally cursing his friends for ditching him.

“Shouldn’t you be in class, Mr…”

“McCall.” Scott smiles weakly, “And yeah, I was just heading there…” he side-steps around the old man, about to make a quick getaway…

“Hang on,” Gerard’s face wrinkles, “You’re the Scott that was dating my granddaughter.”

“Was. Dating.” Scott blurts out, “As in… not anymore. We broke up. So we’re not seeing. Anything. Of each other.”

Gerard laughs. It’s a fake thing that makes Scott’s spine crawl. “Relax, Scott.” He wants to do anything but. He actually feels threatened, like his wolf wants to run and cower. “You look like you're about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth.”

“I’m just worried…” Scott says, and he’s telling the truth, “I’m going to be late to class, so if you don’t mind…” he backs away as he says this, and Gerard just waves.

“Hurry along now. We wouldn’t want your grades to drop any more than they already have.” His smile is thin.

Scott spins around and walks away, but he feels Gerard’s stare on his back.

The man knows, he thinks. Gerard knows he’s a werewolf. Scott doesn’t know how but the ancient hunter has to know.

Or maybe he’s just being paranoid, he thinks, as he arrives at biology.

But is it really paranoia if they really are out to get you?

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Lydia crosses her arms at where Derek has pulled his car up in the car park outside the school gate. Scott stands behind her, and he looks around, but he thinks there’s no chance Stiles is coming along and even less that Allison would risk heading along.

Because on all their phones reads a text message from Derek.

“Well?” Derek asks, “Are you getting in or not?”

Lydia glances around in frustration. “Danny’s convinced you’re my boyfriend,” she reminds Hale, “Just fyi.” She enjoys the frustrated look on Derek’s face. Scott slips into the backseat behind her.

“I don’t like this.” He says, “This is his fault. You can’t just go around biting teenagers.”

“I can if they’re willing.”

“I could willingly have sex with you right now,” Lydia says, “But because my birthday is in one month that’s called statutory rape and I could argue in court I didn’t give consent.”

“What. The Hell?” Derek glances over his shoulder at her, then back to the road, trying to drive, “That’s not… the bite is a gift,” he argues, “Teenagers are more likely to survive,” he grits out, “People older than twenty tend to be killed by the bite.” Scott looks pissed, because he never wanted the bite. Both he and Stiles were bitten against their will. Lydia knows how he feels, having it forced upon him.

Stiles should have as well, but she’ll let that slide. Stiles wasn’t the one who sank his teeth into her after all. She has to keep reminding herself this.

It wasn’t Stiles’ fault.

But now at least she’s getting answers from Derek, so she presses with more questions. “What about me? And Jackson. We haven’t turned.”

“I have no idea.”

Helpful. Not.

“We should be calling a lawyer.” Scott argues.

“And tell him what?” Lydia stares at the werewolf, “That we need to rescue a teenager from a holding cell while he’s under suspicion of murdering his abusive father because in a few hours the sun is going to go down and he is going to transform into a vicious monster who wants to eat your heart?”

Scott gapes at her.

“Exactly.”

“It’s worse than that,” Derek glances over his shoulder.

“Where are we going anywhere?” Lydia finally decides to ask.

“Isaac’s house,” Derek says, turning into a housing estate. It’s near where Jackson lives, Lydia realises. Isaac actually lives right across the street and yet she doesn’t think she’s ever realised that before.

Scott is out the car first, looking at the house, “If Isaac didn’t kill his father,” he says, as Derek proceeds to rescue a key from under a flowerpot and unlock the door, “Then who did?” Scott’s finally asking the right questions, but once again Derek has no answer. Instead he just leads them in and opens a door, gesturing to the dark shadows that linger there.

“The basement.” Scott stares down it.

“Go down there. See why I bit him. Why I trust him.”

“I am not going down there,” Lydia peers into the basement. “What’s down there anyway?” she gets a horrible feeling from the place, and there is a scratchy noise in her ears as if someone is whispering to her.

“Motive,” Derek seems to be back to giving single word answers and grunts. Lydia glares at him, but Scott’s already venturing down the stairs. Lydia sighs and hating herself, she follows.

It looks just like a normal basement. It’s dark and Lydia doesn’t have werewolf eyesight, bite on her wrist be damned, so when Scott crouches down to the floor Lydia follows. “What is it?”

Scott is tracing something with his fingers and Lydia leans forwards, her own hands reaching out. There are fine white lines scratched in the cement flooring. She spreads her fingers, heart thumping. Scott’s already standing, moving past her and heading straight for a large box.

No, she thinks. Not a box. A freezer.

Don’t, she wants to tell Scott, don’t touch it. Don’t look inside, don’t look, don’t…

He lifts the lid. There are voices that whisper in Lydia’s ears, but it’s indistinguishable. Scott staring at the nail marks on the lid of the freezer.

The _inside_ of the lid.

Lydia knows suddenly with a horrible certainty why Isaac accepted the bite. She knows but she just can’t explain it. The voices churn and she feels sick. Her throat is scratchy and she…

She needs to do something. Needs to let it out.

“Close it,” she whispers instead, “Please.”

The freezer lid slams closed and so does the urge welling up inside her. She closes her eyes in relief.

“Lydia?” Scott crouches down next to her, “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing,” she fakes a smile, “Nothing.” Scott’s looking at her like he knows it’s not nothing, so she braces herself and tells him, “I just… for a moment there I had this urge to scream.”

 

Low voices drift through from the study. The door is closed and Allison stands to one side, head tilted as she listens quietly to her grandfather and father conversing.

“I don’t care he’s a sixteen year old boy,” Gerard is saying, “I care whether he is going to turn when the moon reaches its peak once the sun sets tonight.” Allison presses one hand over her mouth, because no matter what - Isaac is innocent.

Kate killed innocents, she remembers, but Allison won’t. That’s the one line she won’t cross. She’ll be a hunter if that’s what her parents want. She’ll be the best hunter there is.

But she protects people. She doesn’t hunt to hunt, she hunts to save.

And right now the only person in this situation who needs saving is Isaac.

“The next step is eliminating the threat,” Gerard says.

Her dad sounds uncomfortable when he points out, “I’m pretty sure genocide doesn’t usually work out in the history books.”

“The driver’s door of Lahey’s car was ripped off its hinges,” Gerard sounds triumphant, “I think we have our proof right there.” There is the sound of something shifting, “What about that other boy?” he asks, and Allison’s elbow knocks into the wall. She stiffens, but they didn’t hear anything. Gerard keeps talking, “The one with the claw marks in his neck?”

“Jackson,” Chris sighs, “He didn’t turn,” there is a pause, “There aren’t any others.”

That’s a lie. Her dad is protecting the other wolves at least. Stiles and Scott will be safe and they don’t even know about Lydia’s bite. Not that it really matters, since the bite didn’t do anything. Allison wonders if she’ll be able to find anything in her family’s records, in the many books and documents revolving around hunting.

She wonders what he grandfather has that she hasn’t seen yet and her fingers twitch to look through his stuff.

But not now. Later.

Now she has a hunter to put off the trail of Isaac Lahey.

 

“So I’ve got a question.”

Lydia sits next to Derek in the Camaro outside the police station. Derek is staring out and at her words he turns slowly and painstakingly to look at her. “No.” he says, “We’re not dating.”

She rolls her eyes, “Not my question,” she huffs, “My question is if you want us to break into the Sherrif’s station to recue Issac, then why haven’t we called the one person who could actually help us.”

Derek remains obstinately silent, so Lydia is forced to say it.

“Stiles.” She says, “Why isn’t he here?”

“If Scott wants Stiles to help him and Allison try and track the scent of whatever killed Lahey then he’s welcome,” Derek shrugs, “But I don’t want him here.”

Lydia leans towards the alpha werewolf, “You don’t trust him.”

“Do you?”

And yeah - she winces just a little bit at that. Because no, she doesn’t trust Stiles. But she likes him and she’s willing to give him a second chance. She remembers working side by side with him and trying to find out who the alpha was, and she remembers handing him a Molotov cocktail and wishing him good luck as she sent him out after Scott.

She never saw that boy again.

The guy that returned was a wolf with blue eyes and sharpened fangs and claws buried in the back of his neck. She’d like to think nothing Stiles did was of his own volition, but she knows Peter was just the tip of the iceberg.

And that? That makes her wary.

“So why…” she says, voice faint, “If nobody phoned Stiles… why is he sitting outside the Sheriff’s station?”

Derek spins around, because Stiles is perched on the steps outside the station, thumbs dancing over his phone idly as if bored. He’s not looking up at them, and Lydia wonders if he even knows they’re there. He should, but she’s noticed that Stiles has taken to wearing his headphones again.

He’s wearing them now.

“Can he hear us?” Lydia whispers.

“No,” Derek frowns, “There’s music playing. He… I didn’t call him. Did Scott…?”

Lydia shrugs.

Derek reaches for the car door and she reaches out a hand in alarm, “Woah! What are you doing?”

“Going to see if he’s here to help?”

“And what about Isaac? Are you just going to leave him?” Lydia gapes at the alpha. “We still need to break in. Or we need keys and there is no way I’ll be able to get there without getting past the front desk.” Derek glares at her, and she blinks, aware that her hand is still on his arm. “I’m going to remove this now,” she says, cautiously, and snatches her hand back.

The alpha werewolf shrugs. He’s even worse at Scott at plans, “I don’t know. Do something. Sneak past. Distract them. I’ll be there once I’ve talked to Stiles.”

Lydia pulls a face, “You mean you want me to flirt with them,” she sighs, interlocking her fingers and stretching them out in front of her. “Well at least that is something I can do.” She glances to the side to see Derek staring at her with a deadpan expression. “What?”

“The deputy on duty is a female.”

“So?” she shrugs.

“You’re also a female.”

“Wow,” she whistles, “You’re observant. Your point?” she asks again, and then decides she’s had enough of this and opens the car door. She’s everybody’s type, and if she can’t charm a female deputy long enough to steal keys and allow Derek to sneak in to rescue Isaac well…

She’s good at managing the impossible.

 

Stiles is sitting, perched on some steps outside the police station. He glances at his phone, at the time. His dad should be meeting him soon, once he’s picked up their food. Stiles just hopes there isn’t any meat on it and his dad behaved and got a vegetarian pizza.

His feet are spread and his elbows rest on his knees, hands clenched together. His head is ducked slightly, and the music pounding in his ears drowns out the sound if only for a moment.

It’s for that reason he doesn’t hear Derek’s approach until there is a shadow looming over him and he snaps his head up, seeing the alpha werewolf for the first time since Friday night.

“Derek.” He doesn’t move, except to slide his headphones down around his neck and let his muscles tense, in preparation for…

For anything. Fight of flight or action… he’s not sure.

The alpha doesn’t bother with a greeting. “What are you doing here? Did Scott phone you?”

“Scott?” Stiles frowns, wondering why Scott would phone him, then he remembers Isaac. He wonders if he was meant to be doing something, but another glance at his phone tells him that no - he’s not had any texts or calls.

Scott hadn’t called him.

“No,” he glances back up with a sneer at Derek, “I’m waiting for my dad. I take it you’re here for Isaac, though?”

Derek stares at Stiles, and the beta has no idea what the alpha is thinking.

“Please at least tell me you have a plan,” he says, “Or Scott, or somebody.”

“Yes,” Derek grunts, “No. Not a good one.” He narrows his eyes. “I’m getting him from the station. Lydia’s helping.” Stiles finds his gaze drifting past Derek, spotting the Camaro. Lydia isn’t sitting inside, so she must be already in the station. He angles his head, listening for the familiar tones but Derek steps forwards, and Stiles’ senses flare back in full, concentration lost. “You know I need at least three betas to make a pack.”

It’s casual, the way he says it, but there is weight behind it.

Stiles’ pulse skips a beat. “No.” he curls his lip, wanting to move away, but at the same time he wants to stand his ground. “Not interested,” he drawls.

“Will you at least consider it?” Derek snaps, hand reaching out to grab Stiles’ wrist. Stiles pulls away so Derek’s hand closes over thin air. “Stiles. Being in my pack will help the senses. You know what being in a pack is like.”

Stiles snorts and glances back at Derek, “Yeah.” He says, “I do. Then you took that away.”

“Peter was a monster…”

“He was still my alpha,” Stiles spits out, finally giving up and standing up. He’s a step above Derek so he steps down to the same level. The alpha squares his shoulder but Stiles doesn’t falter, stopping about an inch from Derek’s leather jacket, “What's to stop me ripping those pretty red eyes out of your head and claiming the alpha power for my own? Huh?” he’s only an inch shorter than Derek, and his eyes flash that blue Derek is probably more used to seeing in his own gaze.

“If you wanted that you would have killed Peter yourself,” Derek says, grimly.

Stiles stiffens, because that thought had barely occurred to him. He’d never really considered killing Peter. He didn’t want the strength or power. If he was making terrible decisions as a beta, then imagine what his decisions as an alpha would be like? “I don’t want to be in your pack.” Stiles says, voice grim, “And if you ask me again god help me; I'll burn you to the ground with the rest of your family.” He sidesteps around Derek’s form, then stalks forwards, his shoulder knocking against the alpha’s, sending Derek stumbling slightly. He can feel Derek’s glare on his back.

“I know what colour your eyes are!” Derek calls after him, “I know what it means!”

Stiles just laughs and doesn’t stop, “Well yeah.” He drawls over his shoulder, “You would, wouldn’t you?”

 

“What took you so long?” Scott asks as Allison steps into the dark Lahey house. She’s holding her bow by her side and looks unusually windswept.

“Hmm?” she hums, “Oh, nothing.” She grins, sheepishly, “Just… my family sent out a hunter to deal with Isaac.”

“To the police station?” Scott moves forwards in alarm. Allison stops him, one hand resting on his arm.

She meets his gaze, “It’s okay. I slowed him down.” Scott feels his jaw drop open, “I hit the tyres of his car, okay?” she says, defensively, “And then when he got out…” she chews on one lip, and it’s cute but Scott’s anxious to hear what she’s going to say.

“And what?” he prompts.

“I shot him.” She shrugs, “In the leg.” She adds on, and Scott sighs, because Allison’s priorities may be in a different place, but when it comes down to it, she can be just as ruthless as Stiles. “Come on,” she gets straight to work, “Will you be okay for the moon, because I’ve got chains in my car.”

“I’m better now that you’re here,” Scott admits, and it’s true. It’s like everything has stabilised around the fixed point that is Allison. He can breathe again and as clichéd as it sounds, she’s his inhaler.

She shoots him a nervous smile, “So how do you want to do this? Can you catch Lahey’s scent and trace that? Do you want to start here or where he was killed?”

“Here,” Scott decides, “That way I can tell which is Isaac, which is his dad and which is the attacker.” He looks around. “I think it’s maybe another omega. But there were no organs taken from the body at all…”

“We’ll find out,” Allison says confidently, “So do you need to smell his laundry or something?” Allison winces, and Scott pauses, because he genuinely hadn’t thought of that. Allison laughs, “I’ll find a laundry basket,” she says, placing her bow down carefully on the ground and skipping to her feet.

Scott just trails after her.

 

Everything was going fine.

At least Stiles thinks so, because he’s wandered far enough away that he can’t hear anything going on in the station. Scott doesn’t trust him enough to call him in on this, and to be honest Stiles can’t blame him. So he’ll do what is best for all and step away from this.

He perches on a wall, leg kicking against the brick. He should be able to see his dad arriving this way, and catch him hopefully before he spots Derek or Lydia smuggling Isaac out of the station.

He doesn’t see his dad. Instead he glances up at the sound of footsteps and sees a man dressed in deputy uniform stumble along the sidewalk. The guy slinks out of the shadows, bleeding. There is still the shaft of an arrow in his leg that smells of Allison, and Stiles knows from experience that Allison is a good shot. He also knows straight away the guy is not a cop. He knows every cop in the station and this guy?

He smells of wolfsbane and gunpowder and Stiles doesn't know him.

Stiles makes the decision quickly. Before he's even really aware of it he's standing, movements fluid. The moon beats through him but there is a sudden clarity to everything as he slips down the street, heading straight towards the hunter. He has to keep the hunter away from Derek, Lydia and Isaac.

The hunter doesn't notice the wolf slinking out of the shadows until Stiles is standing right in front of him under the pool of light from the street lamp. And by that time Stiles has swung his fist with enough force that would be only a tap to a werewolf, but to a human?

The guy falls and it's easy. It's so, so easy.

The wolf crouches over the body and listens to the heart beat. The guy is still breathing.

Stiles should stand up and leave the guy lying there. He should turn around and walk away.

" _He might come after you again, though."_ Peter stands right behind him, _"He's a hunter. That's what they do."_

A panicked thought rushes through him. The guy might have seen him.

Would he guess Stiles was a wolf? Would he know Stiles was the Sheriff's son?

 _"There's only one way to be certain_."

Stiles clenches his eyes closed, trying to ignore the voice.

 _"There is only one way to ensure he won't come after you again. Won't come after Scott_."

"Shut up." Stiles snaps, glancing up. There is nobody there. Of course. He's talking to a hallucination after all.

He makes his decision, reaching forwards and grabbing the guy by the scruff of his jacket and dragging him up. Because despite everything his hallucination is right.

He needs to be certain.

They need to be safe.

 

Scott leaves the Lahey’s laundry hamper with his nose wrinkled in disgust. He can survive the scents of his family and friends, but this? This is pushing it.

“I’ve got the scent,” Scott says, as he bounds down the stairs. Allison sits perched at the bottom and she stands up, flash light flickering in his eyes and he blinks, blinded.

“Sorry,” she says, sheepishly, “Your eyes flare in the light, did you know?” she playfully flicks the light over his face again, blinding him. Scott mock growls at her and she grins, doing it again when the flashlight dies on her.

Scott snorts as he moves towards where a pool of light spills into the kitchen. “Serves you right,” he snorts, as Allison follows behind, bashing the torch on her hand to try and get it to work.

“I could have sworn I put new batteries in it last week,” she has her head ducked as she walks towards Scott, peering down at the torch; “I should probably get a spare pair. Or a new torch.”

“Luckily I don’t need a torch,” Scott says, peering down at his phone to see if they’ve rescued Isaac yet, “I have werewolf vision.”

“Well good for…” Allison stops talking abruptly, and Scott glances over his shoulder to see she’s clamped a hand over her mouth. Without her voice or wet breaths there is another sound in the background, the click and rustle of scales and claws.

Allison meets his gaze in a desperate, wide-eyed look and Scott slowly turns, looking behind her.

The thing snarls. Scott barely gets an impression of a humanoid figure and yellow reptilian eyes before it moves, dropping to all fours and leaping forwards. Scott is seconds away from lunging for it, but Allison is faster, spinning around and using her torch like a bludgeon, knocking the thing back.

It screeches, hands splayed out and showing five long claws, something like water dripping off them. It looks like a lizard, Scott thinks, as he moves forwards, Allison grabbing a knife from a nearby rack and spinning it around, sliding into place behind him.

“Come on!” she shouts out, and for a moment she sounds like Kate.

But the lizard-thing doesn’t want a fight. It leaps backwards, clinging to the wall as easily as it had the floor and scampering away so quickly even Scott can barely follow it. The thing jumps from wall to ceiling and then down and out into the passage, barrelling towards the door so fast that when it finally gets out, Scott’s surprised it doesn’t take the door off its hinges.

“What the hell was that?” Allison gapes, knife still in her hand as she steps forwards, staring down towards the wide open front door.

“I don’t know.”

Allison looks at Scott, and she’s got a knife in one hand and her torch in the other, and the bulb is broken into glass slivers from where she hit out at the lizard-thing. “Yeah,” she says, “I should probably buy a new torch,” she decides, looking back up to where Scott is still staring out of the door where a long tail whisked out of sight into the darkness only seconds before.

He doesn’t think they need to go to look for what killed Isaac’s dad.

He thinks they found it right here.


	4. Shifted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Stiles makes bad decisions. He's not mentally stable but he still makes a dubious choice.

Stiles can't let the hunter go. The guy has seen his face; he'd report it to Gerard, to the others. He clenches his fist, and his claws dig into his palm. The moon burns in the sky and he feels drunk.

At least, he thinks being drunk would feel like this, but he was bitten before he could ever really find out.

He can’t get drunk now.

He wonders what his dad is doing. He should be hanging out with his father and watching stupid movies like they’d planned with veggie pizza and not here in the woods with a good for nothing hunter tied to a tree.

Stiles just wishes he’d bothered to use a gag as the hunter spits out at him. “They’ll put you down.” The hunter sneers, “Gerard will shoot an arrow through your throat.”

Stiles just laughs, crouching in front of the hunter, “What would you do if I said that Chris already had the chance to put a bullet through my skull and he chose not to?”

The hunter falters, “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Stiles stands and spins, glancing at the moon and then into the forest. He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought it through at all.

In the shadows of his head Peter’s voice is dark _. “You know what you have to do.”_

He turns around, looking at where the hunter glares right back. The wind tickles the nape of his neck and it almost feels like someone standing right behind him. Stiles turns away again, eyes closed.

He can’t do this. He can’t. He should phone Chris or something equally responsible, get the lead hunter to take his attack dog away. But there’s still that risk…

_“There’s only one way to know for certain.”_

His eyes flash open, but there is nothing but gloomy forest in front of him.

"You're a monster," the guy sneers, behind him, and Stiles steels himself, making a decision without even realising it.

"Yeah," he says, spinning around and stepping back to the guy. He drops into a crouch, hands clasped together and he ducks his head slightly, but when he looks up his eyes are glowing blue. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he says with a shrug, "But at least I wasn't about to murder a sixteen year old kid."

The guy flinches back, his head hitting against the rough bark of the tree behind him. “No, no…” he blusters, but it’s too late.

Stiles has made his decision. Now he’s just considering the best way to do this. He needs it to look like an accident. Or he needs to hide the body really well.

 _"There’s time,"_ Peter shrugs from the corners of his mind, _"Plenty of time. You just need to avoid the other hunters at moon high."_

That almost decides it for him, Stiles thinks, as his claws lengthen.

 

Her wrists burn and her limbs are beginning to cramp. Allison glares at a particular mouldy spot on the wall, hating this house with a desperate vengeance. The floor creaks as her dad stalks around her, the twisted voice on the phone still talking as she tries to process this.

Her dad’s just kidnapped her.

At least, Allison thinks, she’d had the chance to drop Scott off at his house before getting gas. It would have been even worse had her dad or his accomplice had found the werewolf with her. She shivers, the chills from the burnt out house getting to her. She’d been planning to curl up at home with her family books, looking to see what that creature might be, but instead she was here.

In her hand the arrow she shot the hunter with is clenched.

“We can’t find him,” Chris says from where he stands so close behind her Allison can feel his breath on her neck. “He’s gone.”

There is nothing but a trail of blood and one of her arrows. Allison wonders if that creature got to him, or if it was something else. Her dad seems to think it was Derek.

“Isaac is missing.” He says.

“You were going to kill him.” Allison spits.

“And if I meet him on another full moon I will.”

“You didn’t kill Scott or Stiles.”

And Chris Argent moves so she can see him, see his face twist until he looks almost pained. He crouches down in front of his daughter. “They’re exceptions. They’re pushing my limit and I don’t have room for any more special cases. The code states I should put a bullet through Stiles’ head as it is, but I haven’t.”

Allison laughs; “Am I meant to be grateful?” she asks, “That you haven’t yet shot a sixteen year old boy?” she glares at her father’s harsh blue eyes. “Next thing I know you’ll be locking him up and electrocuting him.”

Chris frowns, “I don’t do that.”

“Kate did,” Allison spits, because she can. Because that secret had remained between her and Stiles, but if she needs to use it to keep Stiles breathing she will. “Kate locked him up and tortured him for three days.” She watches the expression she is beginning to realise is regret flash across her father’s face. It appears every time she mentions Kate.

“I didn’t know…” Chris says.

“I did,” she tries to slip free from the rope tied around her wrists, “I was the one who got him out.”

Chris straightens, “That’s why it’s the woman, not the men in our family who make the decisions,” he sighs, “Men are too bloodthirsty, too quick to war, so in our family we place the final decisions - the hard ones - with the woman. Our sons are trained to be soldiers. Our daughters, to be leaders.”

“Kate wasn’t much of a leader,” Allison’s fingers are numb, and she thinks she’s almost dropped the arrow, but she can still feel the sharp point digging into her hand.

“You’re not Kate,” Chris says, “So prove it. Your training starts now.”

And then he turns around and walks out, leaving her tied up and chilled in the wreck of the Hale House.

 

Stiles vomits.

God - he'd forgotten how much he hated blood. He doubles over, still retching. He really, really hates blood. He has no idea what Peter did to him, what he had been thinking when he clawed up Harris or those other guys, but this?

It's disgusting. Stiles feels sick even though he's no longer heaving up his lunch.

He's not made to be a killer, he thinks, as he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. But he'll do what he has to.

Stiles knows those six words are the first step down a road of good intentions, but he's already so far down that cobbled path that he doesn't think he can turn back now.

He gets home later, evidence destroyed. He’s the son of a cop after all, and he knows how to clean up after himself. He walks home, because he’d been meaning to catch a lift from his dad and obviously that plan failed. He hopes his dad just ate all the pizza and went to bed.

It’s too much to hope for. His dad is waiting for him when he steps in through the front door and his face is creased with worry. Stiles lingers and his dad just gestures to a seat.

“I’m not going to ask where you were,” the Sheriff sighs, and he looks tired. Stiles swallows, nervously.

“What are you going to ask about then?” he asks.

His dad stares at the ground for a while, probably examining some questionable stain in their carpet, before eventually looking up and asking straight out. "So what can you tell me about Isaac Lahey?"

 

“Congrats!”

Allison stops, rubbing at her wrists as she eyes up the young hunter. “For what?” she asks, “It took me two and…” she peers at the timer on his phone, “Two and a half hours.” She stalks past him, heading to her car, snatching her keys out of his hand as she does so.

“Took me three when I did it.”

Allison doesn’t turn, just pauses, letting herself smile. She can be a little proud then, she thinks. Even if she’s never going to be the hunter her dad wants, she can be the hunter she wants to be.

A protector.

 

“Why didn’t you phone me about Isaac?” Stiles hisses to him, dropping into a seat next to him as they get changed for gym. “Derek went creeper wolf on me at the station.”

“What were you doing at the station?” Scott looks up from where he is tying his shoelaces.

Stiles jerks his head in a typically-Stiles movement, “Oh, you know. My dad, he’s the Sheriff, you might have met him; he _works_ there.” Scott doesn’t appreciate the sarcasm and his face says as much. “Okay, okay, I was meeting my dad. Then Derek shows up and then this hunter shows up with an arrow in his leg and _I had to deal with him_ and who knows how Lydia and Derek pulled off rescuing Isaac, I don’t want to see Derek and any conversations with Lydia usually end up withering like a cactus in a desert.”

Scott ignores the bad metaphor and stands, turning to stuff his cloths back into his back, glancing at Stiles, “Ever considered that’s _why_ I didn’t phone you?” he asks, “And… what do you mean you ‘had to deal’ with the hunter?” he frowns. For just a moment Stiles’ expression flashes through several emotions, and Scott freezes. “Stiles.” He says, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Stiles argues, but Scott knows he’s lying, “Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Stiles repeats, and that? That isn’t a lie.

“There’s a hunter missing,” Scott relays what Allison had said to him. That there had been a hunter monitoring her training and that this morning it turns out he’d never checked in and Allison had been the last person to see him. “Did you… _god_ Stiles what did you do?” Stiles turns away and Scott reaches out, one hand on Stiles’ shoulder to pull him back. His friend shifts away from the touch. “Did you kill him?” Scott asks warily, hoping that by jumping to the worst conclusion he’ll be wrong. Stiles probably got the guy arrested or something, or stranded the guy in one of those werewolf traps in the woods…

But then Stiles shrugs, “Maybe,” he says, nonchalantly. Scott’s eyes flash gold in alarm and Stiles glares at him, “What of it?”

“You don’t just… you killed… We’re not _killers_!”

“Oh, right. The ‘ _we’re predators not killers’_ spiel?” Stiles snorts, “That’s what you’re going with?” Scott steps forwards angrily, crowding Stiles’ space. Stiles steps backwards, and he actually looks nervous, ducking his head, “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Stiles says, and he looks up at Scott, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to.”

“How do you ‘not mean’ to kill someone?”

“I don’t…” Stiles’ face twists and his head snaps around, “Shut up.” He growls out.

“What?” Scott blinks, because Stiles isn’t talking to him. His friend’s gaze is fixed on something but when Scott turns his head there is nothing there.

“Nothing,” Stiles shakes his head, “Look, I’m not going to kill any more hunters, okay? Allison can shoot them to her heart’s content and I won’t lay a claw on them. And next time I’ll let Isaac die from wolfsbane. He’s Derek’s problem now anyway.”

“Wait wait… Isaac?” Scott freezes, “I… the hunter was up in the woods. By the Hale House.”

Stiles blinks, “No.” he says, “The hunter Allison shot in the leg? The one they sent to kill Isaac? I… that guy. By the police station.”

“But a hunter died in the woods,” Scott says, “That… you didn’t kill the one in the woods. So that means… something else did.”

Stiles shifts his weight, “The lizard-thing you and Allison saw?” he seems curious, and Scott looks up, seconds away from sharing everything with his friend, but then Stiles keeps talking, voice twisted and bitter, even as his gaze goes distant, “The one you didn’t tell me about? The one I had to overhear you talking about with Lydia this morning?”

“Dude,” Scott says, “You can’t complain about my secret keeping when you… Stiles… you can’t just go around _killing_ people. You… does your dad know?”

Stiles flinches, “Don’t talk about my dad,” he says, and his eyes flare blue. Even after all this time the colour is just as unnatural as ever.

“Why not?” Scott asks, “Huh? Did you tell him you _killed_ people?”

Stiles snarls slightly and grabs Scott by the sleeve, tugging him down towards a quieter part of the locker room, “Tell the whole school, why don’t you?” he snaps. “They can’t pin it on me. There’s no evidence.”

“Just as well,” Scott glares, “What if there was? _God_ \- Stiles they’d lock you up. They’d ship you off somewhere. They’d _arrest_ you!”

Stiles looks uncomfortable but he shakes it off, pressing forwards so he’s inches away from Scott, “The only way anybody finds out is if someone tells,” his voice is low, “And if you want to tell - go ahead. I won’t stop you. But I could just as easily let slip to Chris that you’re still seeing Allison. I could just as easily tell Gerard you’re a wolf. I could even tell Melissa what you turn into on a full moon…”

Scott punches him. He thinks Stiles was probably goading him on purpose, but he couldn’t help it. “Shut up.” He says, “I’m not going to say anything.” He glances up, aware that a few people have noticed their alteration, “You know I’m not, Stiles, I’m better than that. So are you. You don’t have to do this. Not anymore. That’s not you.”

“But what if it is?” Stiles asks, glancing up, rubbing at his jaw. Scott wants to punch him again, but he knows the mark won’t last, “What if that is me? What if that’s just the person I am now?”

“Well you need to make up your mind about that, don’t you?” Scott says, and then he turns away. He can’t take any more. He can’t stand there and try to build back broken bridges. Stiles is burning them down as quickly as he makes them, and he’s so, so tired of it now.

He turns away, ignoring the sympathetic eyes of almost everyone in the locker room. People know that StilesandScott, ScottandStiles, they’ve always been a package deal and to see the pair not on good terms is practically an impossibility.

Scott ignores them all. He doesn’t turn around to look at Stiles, and he tries not to think of his -not-quite-friend.

He’s got more important things to worry about.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Lydia steps back in alarm, away from Jackson’s angry face, “What the hell is wrong with _you_?” she asks, wrinkling her nose at him, “The full moon was yesterday. In case you didn’t realise, the opportunity for you to freak out and go on a blood angry rage was then.”

Jackson growls - actually growls - and slams his fist against her locker. Lydia flinches as the echoes reverberate in her ear.

“Are you insane?” she snaps, moving away from him, but Jackson reaches out, grabbing her arm. Lydia stills, body stiffening before she yanks her arm out of Jackson’s grip.

“Show it to me!” Jackson demands, “Show me your bite!”

“What?”

“Nothing happened! Not to me and not to you. It… it’s like you’re immune!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Lydia hisses, angry suddenly, “Is this about the full moon? What happened?”

“Nothing _happened_ ,” Jackson hisses, “That’s the problem!”

Lydia shrugs, crossing her arms and refusing to think about how that a defensive move, “Maybe you just don’t remember,” she says, airily, “Scott woke up in the woods naked once.”

“I’m not McCall!” Jackson looks disgusted, “And I filmed myself. All night long.”

“You what?”

“It wasn’t a sex tape!” Jackson almost shouts that to the whole corridor and Lydia just raises her eyebrows. Jackson lowers her voice, ducking his head slightly, “Nothing happened to me,” he repeats again, “It's - It's you. Whatever it is - Blood, saliva - Whatever soul - killing substance is running through your veins, you did this to me. You’re immune and you spread it to me. You _ruined_ it for me. You ruined _everything_!”

“Well I’m sorry,” Lydia glares at him, “I’m sorry that you couldn’t be a big bad killer werewolf,” she’s trying to hide the hurt and failing. Her voice trembles, “I’m sorry, except I’m really not,” she says, “Because I guess Stiles is right and you really don’t deserve it. The bite is a gift.” The words aren’t hers but she says it anyway, “And it’s not one you deserve.”

She spins around, leaving him fuming in the corridor.

 

Stiles drops the pair of knives on the table during lunch. They’re at least in a brown paper bag, but it probably looks more suspicious than anything else. Stiles can see at least Coach eyeing up the pair warily, but Stiles doesn’t really want to know what goes through Coach’s mind so he clears his throat, attention flickering to where Allison is looking up at him, expectantly.

He slides the bag towards her, “I believe these are yours,” he says, and she cautiously takes the packet, opening it, ducking her head. Her hair cascades over her shoulder as she peers inside.

Her face clears when she sees what it is, “Oh!” she exclaims, straightening suddenly, “Are you serious? You bring these back to me in the middle of school?”

“Well there’s not exactly a time to meet between avoiding your parents who want to kill me and Scott and I still aren’t exactly on the best of terms and really, when else am I expected to do it? It’s not like we’re friends, not really, and I just thought you’d need them. What with the killer lizard and everything.” Stiles shrugs weakly, giving up standing and sliding into a seat opposite Allison.

“Thanks.” She says, sliding the bag between two of her school books.

“Least I could do after you rescued me from torture by your psycho aunt. And then you shot arrows at me. And then you stabbed me. And buried these knives in my arm and pinned me to a tree for half an hour.” He winces, “Fun times.”

“No, really,” Allison swallows, “Thanks. And they’re actually Chinese Ring Daggers. But… you know… knives works fine.”

“Oh, wow, I’ll be sure to remember that next to you’re about to stab me.” Stiles nods, and nothing he says stops the way Allison is looking at him.

 _“She pities you.”_ He jerks his hands away from where Peter is suddenly sitting next to him, chewing on a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Allison is still staring at him with that sad expression.

“I told my dad,” she blurts out, suddenly, “I told my dad about what Kate did to you.”

Stiles feels his blood run cold, because he’s been trying to pretend that between his nightmares of Peter and the feeling of blood drying on his claws, the next topic isn’t Kate Argent’s leer as she runs volts of electricity through him.

“Scott doesn’t know, does he?” Allison asks, and this is quickly straying into territory Stiles doesn’t want to talk about.

He shakes his head, glancing around. “He doesn’t need to know,” he says, spotting Scott, and Scott isn’t listening, isn’t even aware that Stiles and Allison are sitting together.

“You killed that hunter,” Allison says, “The one they sent to kill Isaac. I… he’d probably be more willing to understand why if you just told him about Kate.”

“I can’t,” Stiles hisses, “I won’t. I… that had nothing to do with it.”

Allison’s face crumples, “I won’t tell anyone else,” she says, leaning forwards, “I promise, okay? For whatever reason you’re keeping it a secret - because you don’t want people to pity you, or to even have a fraction of a chance of understanding why you do half the things you do, I don’t know - but I promise I won’t say anything. But you don’t kill anybody else. I… I know why you killed the others. Why you let Peter kill Kate. I…” she swallows, “I even know why you killed this hunter. But it has to stop.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Stiles blurts out, and dammit, he didn’t meant to say that. “I _didn’t_ ,” he argues again, when Allison looks sceptical, “I just meant to knock him out, but then I… I didn’t know what to do with him. He… he would have talked. Told Gerard… I just…” a sudden silence echoes in his ears and it’s sudden enough to make him stop, head turning, “What the _hell_ …?” he frowns around, hearing footsteps approaching.

Allison leans forwards, until her hair brushes over where his fists are clenched on the table, “Hey,” she says with a frown, “Isn’t that the girl who fell off the climbing wall?” Allison frowns.

“Erica,” Stiles’ voice is almost a low growl, “She’s been bitten.”

The blonde strolls in like she’s on a catwalk, a simple white t-shirt, leather skirt and jacket and dark make-up on around her eyes. She radiates confidence, and every boy is staring at her. Every girl too, and over where Scott and Lydia sit Stiles hears Lydia remark, “What - the _holy hell_ \- is _that_?”

“This isn’t good,” Allison breathes out slowly.

Stiles shakes his head, grabbing his bag, “No,” he says, “Not good at all,” and he stands, making his getaway while everyone else is still staring at Erica. She’s leaning forwards, crunching on an apple and sliding the piece around her mouth as she licks her lips.

He stalks straight past, not even looking at her. He can feel her gaze on him as he goes, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want anything to do with Derek’s little pack of misfits.


	5. Ice

“So,” Allison watches Scott unlock the ice rink door and switch on the lights for her, “You’ve never skated before?” she asks, sceptically, “Is this like ‘I’m a great bowler’ and you turned out to be really bad?”

“I wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“You weren’t _that_ good.”

Scott pulls a face, “In case you’ve forgotten, I am a creature of the night,” he ties up his laces as Allison slips her foot into the one skate, “I am a terrifying moon-howling honest to god werewolf with super-speed, enhanced reflexes, strength, super-senses and amazing good looks and so ice-skating?” he steps out onto the ice, grinning like a happy puppy, “Shouldn’t be a probl--“ he turns to her, and as he does his feet just fly out from under him.

There is a crash and Allison winces, raising her eyebrows, “Naturally.” She says, fighting a laugh, “Wow. You’re _really_ good.”

“Uh… maybe I could use a few pointers,” Scott’s voice drifts from the icy floor.

 

It’s cold, and Lydia curls up slightly, tugging her jumper a little bit more over her to cover her exposed shoulder. Her fingers meet thin air and she blinks, sleepily.

It takes her a while to remember what she had been doing. She had been…

She had been…

She thinks she had been doing homework, but she frowns, struggling to think. She can’t remember. She can’t…

She sits up, goose bumps prickling on her skin as she shivers, the soil under her fingers cold and damp and…

And she has no idea where she is.

Around her the trees are dark and looming, casting shadows with spindling fingers that reach out towards her. Lydia’s sitting on the hard ground, the cold seeping up through her bones and she shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. She’s in the middle of the woods.

And what did she do? Did she sleepwalk or something?

But all she feels is fear, because how can you be sleepwalking if you don’t even remember falling asleep?

She stands, and her feet are bare and she’s just wearing a thin dress. It’s icy cold, but at least, Lydia reflects, she’s not naked.

She still has no idea how she got here though.

“This is private property,” someone says, and for one stupid moment Lydia thinks it’s Derek. But the voice is too smooth, purring almost as she turns, spotting the figure that slips dramatically out of the shadows.

“I’m sorry,” she says, eyeing up the boy. It’s hard to tell his age, and he could be anywhere from her age to in his twenties. His eyes are a pale sparkling blue as he smiles at her.

“You look lost,” he says, head tilting to one side, “Do you need any help? My house is just over there.” He points through the trees, but Lydia doesn’t turn to look. She doesn’t trust random strangers, she’s not stupid.

The bandaged unhealed bite mark on her arm tingles slightly and she pressed one hand to it. The boy’s calm blue eyes notice and he looks concerned, “I’m fine,” Lydia lies before he can say anything, “I was just taking a walk. With my dog. She ran off and like an idiot I ran after her,” she laughs, gesturing to the forest, “And now I’m a bit lost, but I’m sure I’ll be fine, thank you.”

The boy huffs a weak laugh, then bends over, picking something off the ground, “Here,” he says, and Lydia catches sight of a flash of pink, “I think you dropped this.” He holds it out, and Lydia relaxes slightly, because that’s her phone.

That’s her phone and that’s her lifeline and she grabs onto it gladly.

“Thank you,” she looks up, preparing to charm the guy into leaving her alone and in peace, but when she blinks up all that surrounds her is an empty forest.

 

“So if Stiles killed the one hunter that was going after Isaac…” Scott frowns as Allison practically drags him along the ice. All Scott has to do it stay upright which is easier said than done. “--Then that other hunter is still missing. Do you think that lizard-thing took it?”

“We really need a better name than ‘lizard-thing’,” Allison sighs, “I’ll look through my family books. See if there is anything there. And maybe you should ask your boss,” Allison brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, frowning as she leans forwards, skating gently “He seems to know about werewolves and stuff, right?”

Scott sighs and cautiously lets go her hand, since he seems to be staying upright. He propels himself forwards, arms outspread, “I tried that,” he bemoans, as he wobbles forwards; “Every time I bring it up he distracts me with a raise.” He perks up slightly, “I earn three more dollars now though!”

“Watch out!” Allison says, a moment too late as Scott face-plants into the ice rink wall. She flinches, hand over her mouth as she drifts over to him. “Are you okay? You look like you hit your head that time.” She leans over him, watching as Scott blinks, looking dazed, “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asks, then her shoulders slump, “I feel like Coach Finstock,” she sighs.

“Coach never bothers to ask,” Scott’s pupils dilate in and out.

“I think _we_ …” Allison drags Scott to his feet, “…should get you off the ice. Okay, Bambi?”

“Got it,” Scott moans, and despite werewolf healing that still looks like it hurt.

They are in the photo booth when Scott’s phone rings, looking through the photos to try and find one where the flash doesn’t flare in Scott’s eyes.

“This one looks okay,” Allison snatches it out of Scott’s fingers as he fumbles around for his phone.

“Lydia?” he says as he picks it up, “Hey, are you okay-- what? I… yeah, sure.” Allison stares in concern as Scott stands, shoving her gently towards the exit of the rink. “We’ll be there, okay? Don’t… don’t go anywhere.”

“What is it?” Allison asks, “Scott, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Lydia,” Scott says, “She woke up in the woods and doesn’t know how she got there.”

“Is this like with Stiles?” Allison struggles to keep up as she follows behind the werewolf who is walking quickly towards his mother’s car, “Is she turning now?” Scott looks confused and unsure and he doesn’t answer. Allison wonders why it is that their dates are always interrupted by one of their friends sleepwalking into the woods on a dark and cold night.

 

“Oh thank god,” Lydia stands, looking so, so small, with her arms wrapped around herself as Allison climbs out of Scott’s car with a blanket. Lydia accepts it with a small smile.

Scott approaches her from the front, “What happened?” he asks, “How did you get here?”

Lydia shudders and Allison wraps one arm around her best friend’s shoulder, “I’m fine,” she says, pulling the blanket tighter around her, “This boy found my phone for me so I could call you guys. He crept off into shadows like a creeper, but didn’t do anything.”

“That’s not what I was asking,” Scott lays a hand on one of Lydia’s own, thumb rubbing circulation back into the skin gently, “What happened?”

“That’s the thing,” Lydia whispers sadly, “I don’t know. I just woke up in the woods, and I don’t know how I got there. One minute I could have sworn I was at home doing homework, the next I was in the woods.” She tugs her hand away from Scott’s and presses it down to her side, “I’m not a werewolf,” she says, quietly, “It hasn’t healed.”

Scott exchanges a worried look with Allison, “Peter’s the one who bit you,” he says, cautiously, “But Stiles was there. Maybe he knows what went wrong?” He opens the back door, because standing outside in the cold isn’t going to do anything. He slips into the driver’s seat and turns around to look at Allison and Lydia, curled up in the back. “You two should talk.”

“Like you ‘ _talked’_?”

“Lydia,” Allison tilts her head to one side and it sounds like she’s preparing a ranting explanation about why Lydia should trust Stiles again. The red head cuts it off before it begins, rolling her eyes.

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll talk to him. Happy?”

“The problem,” Allison looks towards Scott, “Is that Stiles isn’t really talking to any of us. Not really.”

“He’s just being an asshole,” Lydia sniffs, “I’m used to it with Jackson. I’ll find him and we’ll try to clear the air with some of the many issues. But…” she meets Scott’s gaze then, eyes a stony green, “But I’m not making things better between you two. You need to do that yourself.”

“My dad wants me to watch Stiles,” Allison sighs, “I’m still worried they might shoot him. We should keep an eye on him.” Scott’s jaw clenches, because he’s not Stiles’ guard dog. He’s not the guy who has to make sure Stiles does what he is told.

His friend doesn’t trust him enough anymore, and Scott doesn’t really trust him, considering that every time he turns his back Stiles ends up doing something terrible. Peter may be dead but Stiles?

Scott doesn’t think he’s seen Stiles since his friend watched him walk off into a dark school with nothing more than a Molotov cocktail in hand.

He’s Stiles’ friend, but there are some things even he can’t do.

 

“Hey,” Scott says as Lydia sits next to him at lunch. She seems lately to be the only one keeping him company. He doesn’t know where Stiles is - the other werewolf isn’t even in the cafeteria, and so he doubts Lydia's been able to talk to him yet. Allison sits behind him, close enough to hear his conversation and offer a few words, but not close enough to be seen as sitting next to him.  “Lydia - have you seen Boyd today?”

“Who?” Lydia raises one perfect eyebrow.

“Boyd,” Scott gestures at the empty table, “I need to give him back the key to the rink from our date last night.”

Lydia glances up at the empty space, and then back to Scott, the pair realising it at the same time. “Oh no,” Lydia says, “No.”

“Do you think Derek…?” Allison asks behind them, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll head to the ice-rink,” Scott says, “He works there after school. If not I’ll head to his house. Are you…?”

“I can’t,” Allison’s voice sounds broken, “My mom’s expecting me after school.”

“Maybe we should just let Derek take care of them,” Lydia says, then rolls her eyes, “I didn’t mean it like that. But they’re his responsibility, so shouldn’t we just let them be? It’s their choice. It’s not like he’s forcing them…” her voice sounds strained. “You let Jackson get the bite, remember?”

“And a fat lot of good that was,” Scott’s face twists, because Jackson didn’t even fucking transform, “And that was then. This is now. When there is something killing people, there are hunters; quite literally, working at our school, and this is my responsibility.”

Lydia levels an unimpressed look at him, but it is the way Allison shifts in her seat behind that makes it feel less like the weight of responsibility lies on his shoulders. His girlfriend gathers up her books to her chest, “You’re a good person,” she whispers, “But be careful, okay, Scott? You realise what is happening, right? My grandfather coming here, Derek turning Erica and Isaac, it's - It's like battle lines are being drawn.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to be caught in the crossfire,” she whispers, then stands and leaves, Scott struggling not to turn around and face her. He meets Lydia’s gaze.

“Go rescue Boyd,” she shrugs, “Or whatever heroic act you’re planning.”

“What are you going to do?” Scott asks.

She presses her lips together, “I’ve been told I need to talk to one Stiles Stilinski.” The grimace on her face can hardly be called a smile, “Which would be easier to do if I could find him.”

 

“I don’t approve of you skipping school,” his dad says, not even looking up from where he sorts through folders. Stiles is sitting slumped in the corner of the room, fingers tapping on the arm of the chair. “Not because of some petty argument with Scott.”

“It’s not that,” Stiles shrugs, “I just didn’t feel like going in today.”

His dad sighs and heaves a collection of folders onto a rapidly growing pile on the floor. He has the expression on his face that suggests he’s about to start lecturing. Stiles sits up, leaning forwards to change the direction of the conversation, “What’s that?” he asks, gesturing towards the pile of folders.

“Don’t think that’s going to distract me,” the Sheriff grimaces, “I’ve raised you, remember? I know all your tricks.”

“Come on,” Stiles bemoans, “I’m acing all my classes. Even Chemistry now that Harris is gone.” Dead, he thinks, but oh well. He was a terrible teacher, Stiles muses, and tries not to remember the way Harris’ blood had looked splattered across the floor. “Danny was also kind enough to e-mail me some catch-up work.” He says, gesturing at his bag, “Which I even brought with me to do.”

“Then why aren’t you doing it?”

“I’m taking a break,” Stiles says, seemingly chirpily, “To see why you are arranging folders across your floor?”

The Sheriff gestures at the pile, “Strange animal attacks,” he says, “I’m taking another look at them.”

Stiles leans forwards so suddenly he’s surprised he isn’t dizzy, “Are you looking through all your old cases to see if they’re werewolf related?” he asks, frowning, “Dad… you can’t begin to second guess yourself.”

“But…” the Sheriff grits his teeth, “If I knew then what I know now…” he sighs, looking up at Stiles, “There was this girl the night your mother died,” he says, and the conversation has changed so fast it almost gives Stiles whiplash. “In a pile-up across the highway. She was trapped in the car and going to die and she… I held her hand while we waited for the paramedics.”

“Dad…” Stiles whispers.

“She told me,” the Sheriff perseveres, “She told me that if I wanted to be with her, to go now. And I knew… I just knew she was talking about your mother.” His eyes are so, so tired when he meets Stiles’ gaze, “I just didn’t believe.” His voice is broken and Stiles stands, taking a step forwards, grabbing onto his father’s hand. His dad clenches it tightly, and continues, “She died just after the paramedics got her out. And later I got to the hospital and you… you were sitting there… all alone in the waiting room… and…”

Stiles doesn’t want to hear any more. He’s heard enough. He steps forwards and wraps his dad in a hug, feeling tears prick at his eyes.

“I didn’t believe.” His dad whispers, “I didn’t believe. But now?” he pulls back slightly, blinking watery eyes at Stiles, “Now, I can try and at least do something.”

“Okay,” Stiles nods, because at this stage he’d let his dad do anything he wants to, except maybe eat his way through fatty carbohydrates. “Okay, so… do you have somewhere to start?”

“Yeah,” his dad nods, reaching over towards his desk, “There was this car crash…” he pauses to clear his throat, “This car crash seven years ago - the mother and younger daughter died but the older daughter’s body was never found. The other two were mauled by what was thought to be coyotes but now…” he holds out the file for Stiles to see.

There is a calendar inside dating when the bodies were found and when the accident took place. The latter is circled and Stiles stared at the little full circle in the box, “It was a full moon,” he realises, “So you’re thinking a werewolf got her or something?”

“Or something,” his dad shrugs, “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

“What is this girl’s name?”

“Malia Tate.”

 

His dad thinks that if Stiles catches a scent from the Tate house, then he'll be able to find a body. Stiles has his phone out, trying to work out where in the preserve the Tate residence even is. If he can't find a scent then his dad is going to visit the traumatised father tomorrow for some leads.

It feels good to be doing something. To be helping. He types out the address into his phone, pausing outside the police station to wait for it to load, piggybacking off the station’s free Wi-Fi.

The task has his senses all super focussed, and so it takes a bit longer than it should to realise someone is approaching him. He’s not sure if Erica was trying to creep up on him or not, but she doesn’t manage it, his gaze meeting hers when she’s still half-way across the parking lot.

“Stiles,” she smiles, coyly. She’s dressed in another leather jacket, and is wearing what may be the lowest cut top Stiles has seen outside a club. “I’m sorry - we didn’t get a chance to talk to other day.”

He sighs, realising he’s going to have to deal with her now. He slips his phone into his pocket and slouches back onto one foot, eyeing her up, “Erica. You look good. In fact the word ‘sensational’ comes to mind.” He grins at her, casual and easy-going.

Erica laughs. “I am now,” she purrs, and Stiles knows she’s going for seductive, and his throat bobs uncomfortably.

“So Derek’s resorted to seduction to gain pack members?” Peter’s appearance is enough to kill any reaction Stiles’ body would have had to a beautiful girl stalk up to him, “With betas currently including broken orphans and sick girls? He must be _really_ desperate.”

Erica’s expression shuts down suddenly and Stiles realises suddenly that he said that out loud. Peter’s words had become his own and he had spat them out at the beta. His gaze slides over her shoulder but there is nothing there as usual. “You know,” Erica says, a snarl to her voice, “I never knew what I looked like during a seizure until someone took a video of me once and put it online?” her voice is bitter and Stiles can smell the humiliation pouring off her, “It happened during class,” she continued, “I started seizing at my desk and everyone was saying how they should put something in my mouth until some genius reads the card on my key ring which tells him not to 'cause it could break my teeth.”

“That’s terrible.” Stiles says, and that’s completely true. “Did you tell this sob story to Derek too or did you just _look_ that pathetic and desperate?”

Erica’s fuming. Her claws are out and she steps until she’s well inside Stiles’ personal space bubble, “Do you know what happens next?” she continues, and Stiles doesn’t answer. He has a feeling she’s going to tell him. “I piss myself. And they start laughing. You know, the only good thing about seizures was that I never remembered them. Until some brilliant _jerkoff_ \- had to go and put cameras in everybody's phone.”

“You need three betas to make a pack,” Stiles says, “But you’re going to have to find someone else. Despite your beautiful, moving tale, my answer is still ‘no’.”

“The bite took that away,” she snaps, “It made me strong. Made me powerful.”

“Well you know what they say. The bite is a _gift_.” Peter’s words taste like ash on his tongue.

“Derek didn’t send me,” Erica admits, “He told us to stay away from you, but I don’t see why. You're not dangerous. You're not even a threat."

“Maybe you should listen to Derek,” Stiles steps away from Erica, sidestepping around her, “But tell him that he can stay away from me lest I rip out his throat." He moves past her, making to leave, but she reaches out, grabbing his arm and yanking him back. Stiles stumbles.

“Don’t you see? This is an opportunity,” Erica breathes, “You know I used to have the worst crush in the world on you. Yeah, _you_ , Stiles. And you never once even noticed me. But now you’re noticing me. Now you want to do nothing _but_ notice me, don’t you?”

Stiles has had enough. He doesn’t need Derek’s baby betas crawling all over him, he doesn’t need Scott and his stupid morals and he certainly doesn’t need this. He reaches out, grabbing Erica’s wrist and twisting. He turns them around, spinning them so that Erica slams against the wall of the police station, her breath rushing out of her in surprise.

“Maybe next time you should listen to Derek,” Stiles advises, letting his eyes flare blue. Erica actually looks nervous as he leans forwards, keeping her pinned the wall with his weight, one hand holding her there while his other brushes a lock of hair out of her face, “And you know what? Maybe I’ll give him my message in person.” And then he grabs onto Erica’s head, slamming it back into the brick wall. She goes limp; eyes rolling up in his head and Stiles lets her drop, sighing.

He really needs to stop knocking people out.

 

It’s easy for Scott to knock Isaac aside and then to turn back to Boyd, to persuade him not to get the bite. Nobody should want the bite. Because with the bite comes pain and horror. With the bite comes hunters and full moons chained up in a basement. With the bite comes the loss of control and the world screaming in your ears.

“If you’re looking for friends you can do a lot better than Derek,” he says, “But this?” he gestures at himself, “What I am? You don’t want.”

“Isaac wanted it. Erica wanted it.” Boyd says, not moving from the ice plough, “And look at them now.”

“Yeah, look at them,” Scott spins around, hearing Stiles’ voice. His friend is stepping in from the entrance and - Scott had wondered where Erica had gotten to. “These two are basically a bunch of glorified guard dogs,” he throws Erica down onto the ice next to Isaac, the pair groaning weakly. “By the way, Derek? Sending your beta after me - not appreciated.”

Stiles steps after Erica onto the ice and Scott steps towards his friend, only to freeze when Stiles glares at him. “Don’t.”

Derek moves forwards in front of his betas, eyes flashing red, as he looks warily at Stiles, “I didn’t send her. But since we’re all here, why don’t we have a little discussion about killing hunters on my territory.”

“Your territory?” Stiles scoffs, “Says _who_ , dude?”

Derek twists his neck and blinks, eyes flaring red and staying that way as he bares his fangs. “I’m the alpha now.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Stiles lunges. Scott has no idea what is running through his friend’s mind. Isaac and Erica are pushing themselves up and Scott snarls at them to stay down.

Derek knocks Stiles’ fist blow to one side, claws swiping across Stiles’ chest. Stiles’ face twists into alarm as Derek steps forwards him, the beta stumbling back. Scott moves across the ice to help his friend, but Stiles ducks away from Derek. “Don’t, Scott.” He bites out, and then glances back at Derek, “This isn’t exactly a fair fight.” He growls at Derek.

Derek shrugs, “You started it.”

“No,” Stiles snaps, “I think it was you who started it when you ripped out Peter’s throat.” And he lashes out again. Again Derek bats aside the claws, his own hand wrapping around Stiles’ wrist. Stiles snarls, and twists his wrist, trying to twist Derek around, but Derek barely flinches. Stiles’ eyes widen and Scott freezes.

Derek grins, “Not so powerful now, are you?” he asks, “Not without a pack.” Then he punches Stiles in the stomach, winding the blue-eyed wolf. Stepping forwards, Derek grabs onto Stiles, and twists, sending the other wolf flying. Stiles lands heavily and Scott swears he hears one shoulder click ominously as he lands, a huddle of clothing and flesh on the ice. “You act like you’ve still got Peter watching your back,” Derek stalks forwards, sounding disbelieving, “Like you’ve still got an alpha. But Peter? Peter’s dead. And you’re alone. You’re weak. You’re omega.”

He stops, as Stiles struggles to get back up, spitting out blood and glaring upwards, his eyes flashing blue weakly and then dying back to amber.

“Get away from him!” Scott has finally had enough and he leaps forwards, knocking Derek away. Derek snarls and catches one of Scott’s flailing arms, claws digging into Scott’s side as he throws Scott backwards. Scott lands next to Stiles, heavily. He groans, trying to struggle back upright. “If we’re omegas,” Scott chokes out, “Then at least we’ll be omegas together.”

Derek just laughs, “Really, Scott? Just you and your friend, who, by the way, once tried to kill _you_ , your _girlfriend_ , your _co-captain_ and your resident _genius_?”

Scott glances to where Stiles is staring at him. His friend looks shocked, pained (but that might be more from the claw slashes across his chest. He looks open and vulnerable in way Scott hasn’t seen for a long time.

Then with a flicker it’s gone. “I don’t need you to protect me,” he snaps at Scott, shoving himself weakly to his feet. “And I don’t need a pack.”

There are footsteps and Scott looks around, to see Boyd heading towards Derek. Isaac and Erica are helping each other to their feet. “Don’t,” Scott pleads at Boyd, wincing as he does. Derek’s claws had cut him too. “You don’t want to be like them.” Scott begs.

“You’re right,” Boyd shrugs, and then raises his top, revealing an ugly red open wound. “I wanna be like you.”

Stiles sneers, “No,” he moves to the side of Scott’s vision, “No, you really, really don’t.” he stares sadly at Boyd, then turns away, “But it’s your choice. Me? I’m done. I’m out. I’ve had enough.”

Boyd takes another step towards Derek and Scott knows there is nothing he can do now. Boyd had been bitten. He’s in Derek’s pack.

And Stiles?

“See you around, Scotty,” Stiles is limping quietly away, because when it comes down to it he’s already pushed Stiles away. Stiles had burnt the bridges to the ground but Scott’s also given up rebuilding their shattered remains.

Derek vanishes out of the door with his three new betas and Stiles pauses where he stands, looking like he might turn for a moment.

Scott knows he won’t. Just like that night he stalked off after Peter’s death, Stiles isn’t going to look over his shoulder to see Scott standing there.

He’s still got Lydia and Allison and Jackson even to some extent.

But there is still something missing.


	6. Mistake

Scott shouldn’t be at work this late, but he lets himself in regardless. He’ll pretend he’s doing extra hours or something if Deaton captures him, but he remembers that his boss knows he’s a werewolf. With a wince he peels his top up to examine where Derek’s claws had gone into his side.

“Why aren’t you healing?” he moans, reaching for the antiseptic. He wishes for the first time in a long while that Stiles was there with him, making a face and complaining about the ugly red of the wound, not to mention the blood.

“Because it’s from an Alpha.” Scott would drop his shirt if it wasn’t for the fact it would get bloodier than it was already. “It will still heal, it will just take longer.” His head snaps up, staring at where - as he predicted - Deaton had found him. His hand trembles and the bottle in his hand slips slightly, dropping down.

It crashes onto the floor and Scott curses as it shatters, “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he says, and decides to give up on his shirt. He lets it go, wincing as he leans down to the broken glass, “Everything is just slipping through my fingers lately.”

“That’s a world-weary thing to say, Scott,” Deaton moves over to help, “Maybe a different perspective. This?” he grabs a brush and sweeps up the broken glass, “This is entropy at work. The natural way of the universe. But that doesn’t mean it’s falling apart. Not yet. It’s just… changing shape. Like you.” he straightens, emptying the broken glass into a nearby bit, “Maybe we should have a talk. I need to show you something.”

“What is it?” Scott winces as the shirt clings to the open wound. Deaton wordlessly passes him some gauze and bandage. He looks to where a sheet covers something on the metal examination table. It smells like wood and gun powder and blood.

“This,” Deaton draws back the cloth. Scott winces at seeing the body there. “Two hunters were killed in the woods. Both ripped apart. One was a wolf kill. And this?” he pulls on gloves, then shows Scott the careful slices through the flesh, “This was something else.”

“Do you know what it is?” Scott asks, rather desperately, “I mean… you know about me… and… how much _do_ you know? I thought you were a veterinarian?”

“I am,” Deaton gives a cryptic smile, “But I also sometimes specialise in some of the more… exotic types of animals. The thing that did this however…” he gestures, “I don’t know what did this.”

“There was a lizard-thing,” Scott says, “Allison and I saw it the other day.”

“That’s a good start,” Deaton nods, covering the body back up, “You’ll have to go - the Argents are coming back to see what happened to their hunter. You wouldn’t want them to catch you here.”

“But… wait…” Scott resists Deaton’s attempts to ferry him into the back room, “If you know about this stuff you must have books. Information. Something!”

“I don’t,” Deaton shakes his head, “But the Argents will. And this is the crucial part, they'll have a record or book. It'll have descriptions, histories, notations, of all the things that they've discovered. You should find what you need in there…” there is the tinkle of the bell and Deaton shoots Scott a wary look. “Good luck,” he says, then slams the door closed on him.

Scott stays, holding his breath as footsteps echo through the clinic.

“I think I’m going to have to buy a more prominent closed sign.” Deaton greets whoever has just arrived. “I thought Chris was with you.” the vet’s tone is pleasant.

“He was,” someone steps into the room, “But it appears, good doctor, that there has been another kill.” Gerard’s voice echoes through to where Scott hides. “Alan. It’s been a long time - I had heard you had retired.”

“I am retired,” Deaton says cautiously, “But unfortunately nobody else seems to get the message.” There is the rustling of sheets being drawn back. “I believe this is one of your hunters.”

“Yes. Good kid - 24 - quick mind and a good shot.” Gerard sounds critical, but completely uncaring.

“I imagine he’d have to be, considering the type of game you usually end up hunting.”

“Did you find anything interesting, Dr Deaton, or am I wasting my time here?”

“See this cut? It’s precise and almost surgical, but it wasn’t the wound that killed him. This had a more interesting purpose.”

“To do with the spine.”

“That's right. Whatever made this cut, it's laced with a paralytic toxin, potent enough to disable all motor functions. These are the cause of death. Notice the patterns on each side.” There is movement and Deaton clears his throat, “See? Five marks for five fingers or claws. As you can see whatever did this dug in and slashed upwards, eviscerating the lungs and slicing through the bone of the rib cage with ease.”

Scott winces where he hides, because anything powerful enough to cut through bone is dangerous. It’s a risk and it’s still running loose. Judging by the fact Chris isn’t around, means there must be another body.

The wolves and hunters haven’t even begun to fight and already there are people dropping like flies.

“Have you seen something like this before?” Gerard asks.

“No,” there is the sound of gloves being taken off. “But I can tell you that whatever did this is fast. Strong. It has the capacity to render it’s victims helpless within seconds. You and your hunters should be afraid, because when predators use paralytic toxins, it’s usually to incapacitate their prey to eat later. But this? This wasn’t eaten. That means whatever killed him only wanted to kill him. In fact, killing may be its only purpose.”

Scott’s heard enough. He slips out, avoiding the pile of boxes heads out through the back room. The door creaks slightly on his way out as he closes it, not quite clicking the latch because that would make too much noise. It’s dark out now, and looking at his watch, Scott curses, because he knows he’s meant to be meeting Allison, but at this rate he’s going to be too late.

He hovers, spotting his bike where he left it. Relieved, he starts towards it, missing the crunch of gravel until there is hand on his shoulder, spinning him around.

He barely gets a chance to see Gerard standing there, before the knife sinks into his stomach. He chokes, hand going to the blade even as the old man steps forwards, fingers clenching cruelly into Scott’s shoulder. “Hello Scott.” Gerard smiles, “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

“Scott?” Allison calls, rubbing her hands together for warmth. She jogs one of her legs up and down in impatience, wondering where he is. She glances at her watch. She wonders if he found Boyd at all, and wishes their phones weren’t monitored so she and Scott could communicate at least via text. She can barely even talk to Lydia or Jackson without her mother raising a suspicious eyebrow.

Her teeth are chattering when she finally moves. She’s been waiting at least half an hour, she thinks, but after glancing at her watch again she realises it’s longer even. Her heart sinks slightly but she understands that something must have happened or held him up. She turns her back to the outlook, heading to her car. There is the rumble of an engine in the distance.

She brightens up, because that must be Scott now. She wonders why he’s driving, since he usually likes to bound through the forest like the creature of the night that he is.

She skips slightly as she heads down to where she’s parked her car near the outlook. An engine is dying and she peers at the vehicle, just as its headlights switch off. With a sigh she begins heading over, calling out as she goes, “Scott?”

A door opens and Allison pauses, suddenly nervous. Scott would have shouted something out by now. She slowly draws out one of her ring daggers, newly sharpened since Stiles returned them and steps forwards, spinning it slowly around, peering forwards.

The door slams and someone moves into view, Allison flinching back as the person startles, letting out a loud yell.

For a werewolf, Allison thinks as her heart tries to beat its way out of her chest, Stiles is still stupidly clumsy. She closes her eyes, lowering her dagger. She recognises the jeep now she’s down the hill, and on the floor in front of her Stiles blinks up at her. He’s flailed in alarm and tripped over backwards, landing ass first on the leaf strewn ground.

“I didn’t give those back just so you could stab me again!” Stiles looks like a startled deer, which considering he’s a wolf is weird enough as it is. He grabs his phone and stands, looking jumpy, “What the hell are you doing out here at this time of night?” He blinks at her, and then is distracted almost instantly, making a groaning noise as he presses a button on his phone. “Oh come on,” he mumbles.

“What am _I_ doing out here?” Allison snorts, “What are you doing out here?”

“I-“ Stiles opens his mouth, “I…” he looks like he’s trying to find a good lie, “I’ve decided to play to the stereotypes. The big bad wolf hanging out in the deep dark woods.” He leers, and one of his canines has sharpened for dramatic effect or something.

Allison shoves his playfully, “Stop that.” She laughs, “I’m not exactly little red here.”

“You’re the hunter, though,” Stiles raises one eyebrow, “Should I be scared?”

“Not yet.” Allison teases, “So seriously. What are you doing here?”

Stiles waves his phone about, “Something for my dad,” he says, and somehow Allison knows he’s telling the truth. “I wasn’t planning on doing it in the middle of the night,” he elaborates, with a weak grin, “But I got side-tracked by blonde beauties who wanted to seduce me.”

Allison’s face crinkles in confusion, “In your dreams, maybe.”

“No, no - have you seen Erica lately?” Stiles whistles, “She’s like a little blonde spitfire. Like Catwoman, claws and all. It was really daunting. I had to take her back to her owner, and…” he winces, “Then Derek chucked me and Scott around.”

Her hands go to her mouth, “Is Scott okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Stiles actually reaches for the collar of his shirt, pulling it down. Allison can see that it’s not meant to have that black stain on it - and that the stain is actually red and it’s because there are deep claw marks across Stiles’ collar bone. “Scott’s fine too. He popped by the Shaman Dude’s place to find a bandage.”

“Who?”

“His boss,” Stiles says, trying to wave Allison off as she leans forwards to look at the scratches, “Hey, ow, that hurts.”

“Shouldn’t they be healing?”

Stiles just shrugs, “I don’t know. But they’re definitely better than they were two hours ago.”

“Here.” Allison fiddles with her car keys, trying to unlock her car, “I’ve got antiseptic and bandages in my car. I’ll put some on - I don’t want it getting infected.” She wrinkles her nose as she reaches in for her first aid kit, “You never know where Derek’s claws have been.”

Despite still looking reluctant, the other teenager follows her, even letting her force him into sitting down as she dabs at the cuts with a ball of cotton wool. He hisses.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she mocks, unpeeling a bandage, “There.” She finishes up, admiring her handiwork, “Now you’re all good to go wandering around the preserve doing favours for your dad.”

Stiles sighs exaggeratedly, glancing at his watch. Allison doesn’t even want to know how late it is now, “At this rate I’ll be better off coming back tomorrow night.”

“What are you doing, anyway?” she frowns, curious even though she probably shouldn’t be. Stiles didn’t want to tell her the first time, why should he want to tell her this time?

Surprisingly he answers her, leaning sideways onto the backseat, “My dad’s going through old cases, looking for anything supernatural related. He thinks he might have found one so I’m following it up for him.”

“That’s really nice,” she meets his gaze. He looks surprised, but nods weakly, “If you need any help, you know where to find me,” she offers, “And I’m sorry to kick you out of my back seat, but I really should be getting back.” She winces, “Looks like Scott isn’t going to show.”

There is a screeching cry in the distance and Stiles pulls a face, “God, I hate coyotes.” He mumbles as he slips out, standing up, “They always sound like they’re mauling some poor defenceless little animal.” He glances to Allison and she’s suddenly aware of how close he is, and she steps back, letting him step past her, “I should probably give this a miss,” he gestures at the dark uninviting forest around them, “I’m not even sure where I’m meant to be heading…” he hits his phone against his hand, “I think I killed my phone,” he pulls a face, “Thank you.” he gestures at Allison, “For scaring the living crap out of me as well.”

“Me?” Allison sounds indignant, “You scared me as well, dumbass.”

“You should know better, coming into the woods at night,” Stiles opens his jeep door, “After all,” the light from the jeep makes his eyes flare slightly, “There are wolves about.”

“You are so cheesy,” she rolls her eyes, circling her car to the driver’s door, “I’ll see you around.”

His laughter is still ringing after her as she closes her door and starts the engine. “See you around, Ally Cat.”

 

Sirens ring out and lights flash. The Sheriff closes his eyes tiredly, as he watches everybody get to work. The call had come in too late, and by the time they got there all they had was a body lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the garage.

"Stiles," John Stilinski tries his son's phone again, only for it to ring uselessly, "There's another murder. The garage you take your jeep to. It's… there're finding traces of paralytic venom and this guy… he looks like he was clawed up by something. Phone me back." he ends the call and turns around, sighing, only to find Chris Argent standing right there.

"You know."

It's not a question.

He steps back, away from the lights and police sirens, "About what?" he asks, "About how you tried to kill my son? About how your sister did actually kill a whole family of innocents because of what they were?"

Chris' face twists, "I'm not like Kate," he says, "And Stiles is still alive, isn't he?"

"Am I meant to be grateful?" John snaps, then gestures behind him, "Do you know what did this?"

"No," the hunter shakes his head, "But we're looking into it," he gazes towards where they're bringing the body out. John wonders what ‘it’ is.

“Just keep my son out of it,” John steps forwards, “He’s got no part in this.”

“But he’s not entirely innocent, is he?” Chris asks, slowly. His words have a weight to them that makes John tremble in a mixture of worry and rage. 

"If you kidnap my son again…"

"We never kidnapped him…" Chris grinds out.

"Regardless," the Sheriff shrugs, "If you kidnap my son, I'll have you arrested for human trafficking. And that will be the least of your troubles. I'll track down every unsolved murder case with wolfsbane bullets and link them back to your family. I'll smear your name through the mud so that you can't set foot outside without being hounded by reporters. You'll be locked up for a very, very long time. Understood?"

Chris looks uncomfortable, but he nods, sharply.

Message understood.

 

“Don’t move,” Gerard looks over Scott’s shoulder, “I can practically feel the tissue around the blade trying to heal.” He sounds disbelieving, “Your good vet won’t be out to help you now.”

“What did you do to him?” Scott gasps out.

“Nothing,” Gerard leans back to see Scott’s eyes, “Not to him, at any rate. But your good mother on the other hand…”

Scott chokes, tasting blood in his mouth.

“No harm needs come to her,” Gerard smiles, “But I’m just going to need one little favour from you.”

“What?” Scott winces as the blade twists again.

“Not yet,” Gerard says, “For now you can keep maintaining your "average broken-hearted teenage boy" act and I’ll play the nice doddering grandpa who likes to cook and tell stories and be sweet and charming. But a time will come when I need you to do something for me, and you will do it, or this blade will find your mother’s heart.”

Scott chokes out, trying to summon up words. Each millimetre the blade moves it like white hot needles stabbing into him.

“Do you understand?” Gerard leans forwards, his full weight on the blade, dragging it down and Scott groans.

“Yes,” he says, because he has no other choice. His mom knows nothing about werewolves or hunters and if she ends up hurt because of him…

He wonders if this is what Stiles felt like when Peter dug his claws into his neck and told him to join his pack or else…

“Good,” Gerard’s gone suddenly, knife out and hand no longer on his shoulder. The sudden loss of it has Scott doubled over, trying to find his balance. The world spins and his head is dizzy. Blood drips between his fingers, landing on the ground in a brilliant crimson tear.

There is the sound of an engine and when he looks up into headlights the car is already rolling backwards away from him.

The car reverses away, and Scott is left alone, standing, hand pressed to a wound that’s already healed on the outside.

But on the inside the blade twists just a little deeper.

 

“I told you to avoid Stiles!” Derek rounds on Erica angrily, “I told you: Not. To. Go. Near him.”

She juts out her chin stubbornly, and it’s already an improvement in confidence from the person she had been only the day before, “I don’t understand why we have to avoid him. He’s no more dangerous than Scott is.”

Derek spins around with a snarl, because how can he explain. Neither Erica nor Isaac nor Boyd were there when Stiles and Peter had their own little pack. Neither know what the pair did.

He doesn’t tell them either. He doesn’t tell them about Peter or how Stiles threatened to rip his throat out and then actually attempted to make good on that promise. He doesn’t say that he’s actually scared, that Stiles reminds him of Peter and if the omega turned around and ripped his throat out he wouldn’t be surprised. Because while Stiles may not be strong enough for a full on fight, Stiles isn’t one to play by the rules.

There is movement out of the corner of his eye and without even looking Derek reaches out, grabbing Isaac around the throat and throwing him away. “Try not to be so predictable,” he sighs, because he’s got a lot of work to do.

Erica surges forwards, grabbing the collar of his leather jacket and pressing her lips to hers. Derek shoves her away with ease, sighing, “Don’t do that again.” He chides her. “Not everyone will fall to seduction.”

She shoves herself up angrily. That’s what he likes about Erica. She always pushes herself back up. Next to her Isaac is slower, but he takes everything in. He’s the quiet boy nobody notices, but there is potential there too for loyalty and strength.

Derek just needs to find it.

“If they wanted us dead why aren’t they coming for us now?” Isaac asks, and Derek knows he’s talking about the hunters, “What are they waiting for?”

“There’s something else out there.” Derek says, “It killed Isaac’s father. And someone else last night. That means there aren’t just hunters out there. There are hunters and this thing, killing people. So I need to teach you everything I know as quickly as possible.”

He gestures to Isaac and Erica, “Again,” he tells them.

Isaac goes high and Erica swipes down low. Derek jumps over Erica, barrelling Isaac aside and then turning around to knock Erica back. He sighs. He’s got a lot of work to do.

“Again.”

 

“You, actually go to school here?” Lydia narrows her eyes in suspicion at the dark haired boy who trails behind her in the corridor. It’s the same guy who helped her the other night and then left her alone in the woods. His blue eyes sparkle as he dodges the crowds, keeping pace with her.

“Is that such a surprise?” he asks with a grin.

“You look a bit too old to still be in school.”

“I’m the basketball captain.” There is something odd about that, she thinks, but she can’t work out what.

She stops by where Scott is moping on the stairs, dropping a piece of paper in his hands. He unfolds it excitedly and Lydia backs away, letting him read it and then scramble for a pen to scrawl ot a reply.

“Here,” he says, barely looking up, “Can you take this to her?” his eyes are brown and pleading and Lydia can’t resist.

She takes it, spinning around on her heels and the guy skids to a stop, turning and trying to keep up with her, “Why are you running back and forth? You’re like an owl, carrying messages. It’s kind of pathetic.”

“Why are you following me around?” Lydia asks, narrowing her eyes and pausing in the doorway. She half-turns to the guy whose name she doesn’t even know, “You know what is pathetic?” Lydia smiles thinly, “Those two moping over each other because they’ve been forbidden to date. So I’m actually doing my piece of good for the world,” she shrugs, “What have you done today?”

“Well actually I did my piece of good the other night when I helped a lost girl find her phone,” he smirks smugly, “And now I’m checking that’s she’s alright and doesn’t need to be seeing the guidance councillor.”

Lydia snorts, “ _Please_. The Canadian who speaks French who thinks she can work as a guidance councillor?”

“She actually has a Masters in behavioural psychology.” The boy points out, “It’s framed behind her desk.” Lydia flashes an unimpressed smile and makes as if to go, but the boy reaches out, as if to grab her arm. The one where Peter bit her.

She flinches away.

“Sorry,” he says, “Wait… look, I just wanted to talk. You seem like a nice girl and I just wanted to get to know you.” his eyes are pleading and he is rather attractive, Lydia thinks. She just hums for now. It’s neither an agreement nor a rejection.

“Maybe,” she says, “But you’re going to have to try harder than that,” she gently presses one finger into his sternum, forcing him to take a step backwards, “Maybe with less of the creepy vibes as well.” Without waiting for a reaction she turns and steps outside, hopping down the steps towards where Allison is studying. The piece of paper with their romantic poetry is clutched in her hand and she drops it in front of Allison.

Her friend looks up, startled, but grabs the paper to read. Lydia glances back up the stairs to see if the blue-eyed boy is still watching her but he’s lost in the crowd already.

She remembers suddenly what is so odd about that guy who claimed to be a basketball captain at the school.

Their school doesn’t have a basketball team.

“Hey,” Allison looks up, “Can you take back a reply?”

“What? No.” Lydia crosses her arms, “I’m not an owl.” She narrows her eyes, “You know, drug dealers have been using disposable cellphones pretty successfully for years.”

Allison ducks her head, hair slipping over her face, “My parents check every text, every call, every phone.” She looks embarrassed, but then so would Lydia if her parents tried to do that. Especially between her and Jackson. “Look, can you tell Scott I’m coming to the game tonight? I’ll find a time to talk to him then.”

“No,” Lydia pulls her phone out of her bag and gives it to Allison. Her friend frowns, looking over it.

“Why are you giving me your phone?”

Lydia pulls a face, “Really? You. Call. Scott. But use my phone. Just try not to use up all my minutes.”

“Really?” Allison asks, head already ducked as she scrolls through Lydia’s contacts for Scott’s number. He picks up stupidly quickly, and he’s probably still sitting on the stairs, waiting for Lydia to come back with a reply.

If they want someone to run messenger then they can get Stiles or Jackson to run between them, both of whom are in far better condition to run away. Lydia’s getting better, especially considering that incident in the school last month, but these heels?

Not made for running.

“Okay, I’ll put you on speaker,” Allison says, and from where she’s perched on the bench Lydia tilts her head as Allison holds her phone out, “Scott says there might be something telling us about what that lizard-thing is. Some sort of compendium of mythical creatures.”

“You mean a bestiary?”

“I think you mean bestiality.” Allison grins slightly sheepishly.

“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t.” Lydia’s tone is smug, “You hear that Scott? Your super vet is probably talking about a bestiary. It’s a record of different animals and creatures.”

Scott’s voice comes through the speaker - and god he even sounds like a lost puppy - “I think you mean…”

“Oh my god - you two get your minds out of the gutter,” Lydia cuts off his bemused words, “That book will tell us what we need to know.” She looks up at Allison, “Do you think your family has anything like this?”

Allison shakes her head, “I’ve been through everything already, remember? But… my grandfather… he might have something like that. What would it look like?”

“Like an old book,” Scott says over the phone, “Probably leather bound.”

Allison frowns and nods, “Yeah, he has something like that. I don’t know where he keeps it though.”

“What about his office?”

“How the hell are we going to get into his office?” Scott sounds desperate, and Lydia is seriously considering checking he’s not tearing his hair out.

Luckily Allison just shrugs, “It’s easy. Anyone can do it - all we need are his keys.” She bites her lip, contemplating something, “But Scott probably shouldn’t be caught sneaking into my grandfather - who is also our school principal by the way - his office.”

Lydia hates the way her best friend’s gaze has drifted upwards. “Why are you looking at me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So nothing much happened in this chapter, except Gerard and the bestiary scene, but I love the section with Stiles and Allison. They never had enough scenes together in the show.


	7. Coyote

Scott once again sits uncomfortably on the bench, listening to Coach’s pre-game prep that mostly involves threats and briberies.

“And who the hell is that?” Coach sneers at where the opposing team are gathered. He’s gesturing at a large guy, and Scott is slightly intimidated despite his werewolf inclination, “What the hell is he on?” Coach whistles. “I wanna see a birth certificate. Who or what is that genetic experiment gone wrong?”

“That’s Eddie Abramovitz,” Jackson looks like he’s swallowed something sour as he stalks up. “They call him the Abomination.”

“Oh, cute,” Coach looks disgusted. “If someone knocks him out of the game…” he gestures to the team, “ _Instant_ pass in my class.”

While the rest of the team contemplate the merits of the pain versus the free pass, Scott steps up to Jackson, “Dude - are you okay?” he asks, because Jackson looks pale, his skin clammy.

Jackson glares at him, “I’m fine.” He says.

“Lydia says your bite didn’t do anything. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Jackson snaps, “I’m as sure as a guy can be while watching a video of myself for the entire night of the full moon!”

Scott’s face creases, “Dude - you filmed yourself?” he asks, and then his brain catches up, “Oh my god - were you making a sex tape?”

The jock’s face has this twitch that suggests he keeps getting asked that question. “It was documenting an important moment in my life. You have your childhood videos of your first birthday and first steps - well I have this. I should have had this!” he looks put out, “Someone edited the video,” he looks really pissed off.

Scott frowns, “Are you saying that something might have happened to you?” he asks. Jackson shrugs half-heartedly.

“Danny’s running it through a program. He promised he wouldn’t watch.” Jackson shrugs.

“Well that’s good right?” Scott can’t work out why Jackson’s annoyed, “You can see what happened!”

The whistle blows and Jackson pats Scott on the shoulder as he grabs his stick and moves past Scott to his place on the field, “Sometime soon me and Lydia need to have a conversation,” he says, grimly. It doesn’t sound good, “Oh, and McCall?”

“Yeah?”

“Knock that guy off the field for me?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You have your special wolfy powers! So use them!”

“I can’t,” Scott repeats, glancing to one side, even though he knows it’s not going to make much difference, “Allison’s grandfather is watching.”

 

Allison has no idea what to think of the man next to her. She barely knows him, but she knows what Scott has told her.

And she trusts Scott.

She’s tried to imagine a young version of her father and Kate growing up with this man, but she finds she can’t. No matter what she does this man never strikes her as a particularly familial man. He’s brutal, makes a mean salmon bake and a uncannily good hunter, but he’s not a grandfather.

She finds she doesn’t even regret that. It makes it easier to keep her distance, to remind herself what she’s doing and who she works with. Because she’s a wolf at heart, if not in body.

And she’s doing this for her pack.

“It’s cold out,” she shudders, “I knew I should have brought a warmer jacket,” she wraps her arms around herself, and watches the man next to her as he casts a concerned glance towards her.

“Here,” he shrugs off his large coat, “Take this.”

“Are you sure?”

He smiles, dropping it over her shoulders, “Of course.” And she lets it wrap around her, “You’re going to have to be a little patient with me,” he gestures at the game that is starting up.

“How come?” Allison frowns, hand sliding into one of the coat pockets. Empty.

“I’ve never actually seen a lacrosse game before,” he says, watching with interest as the players all begin to line up.

“Oh, well it’s actually pretty fun and entertaining,” she says, just as the large behemoth on the field crashes into one of the Cyclones and sends them flying through the air. Allison winces, just as her hands close on cold metal keys.

“Good god,” Gerard frowns, “Is it always this violent?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” the player who was hit moans, and Allison drops the keys down just as Lydia slips past towards the school.

“Not usually,” she says, but that’s a complete and total lie.

God - no wonder Scott and Jackson like playing so much. In comparison there is Stiles who doesn’t even play anymore, although he used to keep Isaac company on the bench. Now though Isaac is gone and Stiles…

She cranes her neck, but there is no dark brown hair - grown out now of the buzzcut it had been in when she met him. She can’t see him - Stiles isn’t there. He’s probably wandering around the woods for his dad, she thinks, and just guiltily hopes he got his phone fixed.

 

Stiles trips his way through the woods, looking for a dead body.

He contemplates how morbid his life is, that when he should be playing lacrosse, he’s instead looking for what by now is probably a skeleton of a little girl. He better start doing something right though, and this at least he can’t do wrong. He and his dad swung by the Tate residence, his dad pretending to be investigating some coyote traps. Mr Tate is well-known for putting out traps everywhere and Stiles thinks that is reasonable considering his family were killed by a coyote, but the random joggers in the wood really don’t appreciate it.

It also occurs to him how the last time he was looking for a dead body he had Scott by his side, and he got the pair of them bitten by a werewolf.

For a moment he feels a pang of regret that Scott isn’t there with him.

But he doesn’t need Scott. And Scott doesn’t need him.

His senses are better than Scott’s anyway.

He fumbles with his phone, the screen blinking periodically. He didn’t think he’d be able to get it to work after Allison knocked the living daylights out of it, but after a good charge and a moment where Stiles thought his phone was having a fit because it wouldn’t stop vibrating when it resumed working as normal. Stiles if he knocked it or dislodged the battery or SIM card it tended to shut down, so he was trying very hard not to do that as he wandered through the woods, following the point on the map.

He stumbles slightly, because he’s the epitome of werewolf grace and skill. The dot on his phone suggests he’s going the right way, and he just needs to keep heading in the same direction.

Looking down at his phone of course, Stiles misses the tree root that snakes around his neck, sending him stumbling forwards, arms flying wildly.

He maintains his grip on his phone and regains his balance, relaxing slightly.

That’s when something in the woods howls, screeching at the night. He jolts, and it’s that which sends his phone sliding out of his hand, tumbling down and sliding to the bottom of a ditch.

He curses, sliding down after it. He bends over, picking it up and examining the waterlogged device. It’s gone dark again, which isn’t a problem because Stiles doesn’t need the light of his phone with werewolf eyes, but it’s still annoying because he doesn’t want to end up lost.

He looks up, and his surroundings are vaguely familiar. It comes back to him only as he begins to climb out of the ditch, and then it’s like being plunged in a bucket of icy water.

This is the place he got bitten. At the top is the clearing where he’s tripped over Laura Hale’s body, and where more recently he and Scott had fought.

He shudders and turns away, continuing in the direction he had been heading and leaving the clearing and ditch behind. Stiles has no idea how he keeps finding this place. There’s something about it that sets his teeth on edge, something electric and dead smelling, like a rotten oak tree long past its glory days.

He really hopes to avoid that damn clearing.

 

She rifles through the drawers first, scattering paper and stationary aside in search of the leather bound book.

There’s nothing. The only interesting thing is a very large broadsword that Lydia is honestly not even sure how Gerard managed to fit in the drawer it’s so long. She leaves it where it is, wrinkling her nose and moving on. She looks through the paper piles on the office, most of them all school related. She moves over to the filing cabinet and it’s the same again. She finds the key to the safe and again - there is nothing of interest in there.

Nothing nothing _nothing_. There is no book, nothing in leather bar the chair, and nothing aside from the broadsword in the drawer that even vaguely suggests Gerard is a hunter. In frustration she lets herself sink back, collapsing onto the spinning leather bound principal’s chair.

She spins idly for a moment, and sends off a quick text to Allison. Her gaze drifts around the room, and Gerard hasn’t done much to make himself at home. In fact there are still belongings of the previous principal scattered around, and Lydia wonders again why he left so quickly.

Or if he was forced.

Something clicks together with a sharp metallic sound and Lydia glances at where the keys are hanging, still stuck in the safe. There are a lot of keys, and it had taken her a while to find the right one. They are clipped together, along with a key ring that someone must have bought Gerard, because she simply can’t see him going out and buying it for himself. The fluffy shape obscures what Lydia thinks may be a USB drive.

She pauses in her spinning on the chair, gaze focussed in on the USB drive because why the hell was the bestiary going to be a book when most books now were electronic…

She’s half way up when the door flies open and Lydia looks up in alarm, expecting to see Gerard there.

It’s almost worse.

Erica smirks at her. “Not who we were looking for, but you’ll do.” And she grabs Lydia’s arm, dragging her forwards.

“Ow!” a cry is tugged unwillingly from her mouth, as Erica’s fingers dig into her bite mark. “Let me go!” Lydia snaps, but Erica doesn’t. She has werewolf strength and panic bubbles in the strawberry-blonde’s throat at the memory of Peter’s hand, holding her tight, Stiles at her back…

“We just want to talk,” Erica says, “So make it easy on yourself.”

“How can I when you insist on wearing that top with those shoes?” Lydia snaps back. “And the make-up, darling, it’s really screaming desperate.” She sneers slightly. Erica’s bottom lip trembles slightly, but that might be in rage as she throws open the doors to the swimming pool and deposits Lydia in front of where Derek stands.

Lydia takes her time brushing herself off, rubbing her arm and glaring at the pair.

“Well?” Derek announces, as if she knows what she’s meant to be doing, “Talk.”

“About what?” Lydia asks airily, “About how there are so many better ways to contact me including… oh, that’s right.” She holds out her phone, “You have my number, dumbass.”

Derek’s expression doesn’t change, “Scott and Allison saw what killed Isaac’s dad. What did it look like?”

Lydia stares at him - because really? “Oh _come on,_ Der-bear?” Lydia purses her lips, “Is that how you greet your girlfriend?”

“We _never_ dated!” Derek complains, then seems to remember he’s meant to be a big nasty alpha now, “Lydia, just help me. We need to find out what it is!”

“I didn’t see it. Why don’t you ask Scott or Allison - you know the pair who _actually_ saw it?”

“Scott isn’t talking to me and Allison’s family still want to shoot me. Hell, _she_ threatened to shoot me if I climb in through her window one more time.” Derek looks frustrated, “I know they tell you everything. So tell me - what did they see?!”

She sighs and relents, “Allison said it looked like a lizard. It had a tail. Yellow eyes. Reptilian but it could stand on two feet or fall to four. Lots of teeth. Scales…” she trails off, “Why do you two look as if you know exactly what I’m talking about?” she huffs, “Why even bother asking if you already…”

There is a hissing in her ear.

“…know…” she finishes, swallowing and looking over her shoulder straight into a pair of reptilian yellow eyes.

The lizard screeches and Lydia stumbles back behind the werewolves. The humanoid lizard screeches again and then leaps, long tail lashing like a whip. It’s fast and Erica lets out a surprised snarl as it lurches forwards towards them.

“Run!” Derek shouts out, shoving Lydia backwards. She narrowly avoids flying into the pool as she stumbles backwards, watching as Derek growls at the lizard. It’s leaping and climbing along walls, tail lashing and then it leaps down, coming straight for Derek.

“Don’t just stand there!” Lydia shouts at him, but then the creature is leaping backwards already, as if it’s not up for a confrontation.

But the back of Derek’s neck is bleeding and Lydia thinks it doesn’t need to fight them fairly.

 

The behemoth called ‘the Abomination’ is living up to his name. He sends Danny spinning and Coach leans over him, “You okay? How many fingers?”

“Four?” Danny frowns, hand to his head.

“Say two.”

“Two?”

“Perfect. Get back out there, come on!” he pats Danny on the back and Scott casts a concerned look over at Danny. He probably shouldn’t be playing, but his mom is hanging out over by the guy with the camera, he can get her to check Danny over after wards.

“Are you okay?” he asks, just in case. Danny winces and nods.

“We’re losing,” he says, fingers clutching the mesh of his lacrosse helmet, “Too bad Lahey isn’t here. We’re still a player short.”

“We are?” Scott frowns, “Where’s Jackson? He was here a minute ago.”

 “Ill,” Danny shrugs, “He wandered off looking like he was about to puke. Hey - is Stiles around? He could play. He’s still on the team, isn’t he, even if Coach does have him doing all his paper work?”

“Uh…” Scott glances around but isn’t surprised when he can neither see, hear nor scent Stiles, “Stiles isn’t here. He… we haven’t exactly been on good terms lately.”

“You two?” Danny looks surprised, “Wow. I thought you were joined at the hip.” He pats Scott sympathetically, “I hope you two make up soon.”

Scott nods as Danny jogs off in a wobbly line. “I hope so too,” he mumbles to himself. “I hope so too.”

 

He finds the car wreck eventually. His phone seems to have permanently died, so he gives up on using that to help him find his way. In the end he attempts to go by scent, and follows the trail of rusted metal.

The car is in the middle of nowhere, which is to say Stiles has no idea how it crashed when there is no road in sight. The nearest thing to a road is a dirt track several feet away at the top of the ravine, and Stiles is under the vague suspicion that it circles back around to the Hale House, but he’s not sure.

He is suddenly vaguely curious about why the car may have been heading to the Hale house on the full moon, and his curiosity only worsens when he sees the claw marks.

Because they’re five finger marks, and they’re wide, but he spreads out his hands and in comparison they are small. They’re the size of a child, maybe.

Or of a girl aged nine.

There’s a piece of material stuck in the car and Stiles reaches forwards, tugging it out for a scent. It tumbles away and it’s not material - it’s a toy. A creepy baby that looks haggard and worn from being in the woods and not in some child’s house.

Stiles wrinkles his nose, but all he smells is coyote and woods. He straightens, examining the doll for any hints, any traces of anything, and it squeals something.

“Gah!” he startles so badly he drops the doll, jumping backwards half a metre. The doll rolls over to the floor and he takes a deep breath to try and repair some of his broken nerves. “Next time, Stiles, you go into the woods alone, find a buddy,” he tells himself, “Allison will do it,” he suggests, “She’s not even trying to stab you at the moment.” It might stop something else scaring the living crap out of him.

He steps back towards the car when a flash of movement catches his attention.

The flit of paws, the scent, the heart beat tells him it’s a coyote, but that’s not what makes him look up. It’s the fact it’s watching him. It’s skirting around the edges of the ravine, and he catches the glint of eyes on him.

He steps around the car but the coyote has frozen. Deciding to ignore the curious animal for now, and reminding himself that he’s a big brave werewolf who isn’t going to be eaten by a coyote, Stiles moves back to pick up the doll from where he had dropped it. It might have some scent still clinging to it…

He’s barely picked it up than there is a growl, and he looks up. The coyote has actually stepped out of the shadows, and he can see its shape, lean and teeth flashing.

 Stiles steps back slowly and it growls again. Carefully he lowers the doll, leaving it resting on the top of the car so that he has both hands free in case the animal pounces. “It’s okay,” he says, reassuringly, “I know I’m a wolf, but I’m not going to…” the coyote had stopped growling the minute his hand left the doll, “Hurt you.” he finishes, staring at it.

Her. He can tell the scent is female.

“It’s the _doll_?” he asks, frowning and reaching out for it.

Her hackles rise and on instinct more than anything else Stiles snarls back, his eyes flashing blue.

The coyote flinches, her own eyes flaring up as she ducks away, ears pricking in interest. Stiles freezes, because for one split second the coyote’s eyes had been a beautiful electric blue.

_“Malia?”_

The coyote turns tail and bolts.

 

“Your neck!” Lydia steps forwards, just in time for Derek to topple practically on top of her. She drags him backwards, as the lizard is distracted by Erica, tail lashing as it leaps at the beta female.

“Derek!” she shouts, fangs out and eyes golden. It’s bad timing but Lydia finds herself missing the time when Stiles’ eyes had been that colour. She’d seen them before, back when she had confronted Derek about werewolves, just in time for him to collapse in the corridor from wolfsbane poisoning.

This? This is almost the same. He’s paralysed or something, because Lydia is dragging him along. She has no idea how she managed to get Derek from the school corridor to her family’s lakehouse, and now she knows she can’t manage. There is a crash and Lydia knows that’s Erica down. “Derek, where is it?” she asks, trying to work out what to do, “Can you see it?”

“I can smell it,” Derek’s eyes dart around frantically, “Hurry up.”

“Hurry where?” Lydia snaps, then decides to change her tactic. There is no way she’s dragging an alpha werewolf around, so she lets him slide off her shoulder.

“Lydia - what…”

“Sorry.” Lydia shoves him over onto a floatation mat for teaching the poor pathetic freshman that can’t swim. Derek looks alarmed, even more so when she shoves it sideways out onto the pool.

“LYDIA!” Derek complains, and the mat tilts alarmingly as he slides to one side. She stabilises it, and then shoves it towards the middle of the pool, “This wasn’t the plan!” she can’t see his face because the mat’s drifted around, but it doesn’t matter. Derek is ‘relatively’ safe, she can see Erica huddled in a possibly paralysed, unconscious pile, and she pulls out her phone.

She can’t see the creature, but she can hear it, hissing and clicking scales echoing eerily around the swimming pool. “Derek? Where is it? Keep me posted!”

“I am going to kill you!” is the reply. “Are you calling Scott? Get me out of here before I drown!”

“Yes - I’m calling Scott! And there is no way I’m going in there! You have no idea what chlorine does to my hair.”

“You have no idea what my teeth could do to your neck!”

“You really need some better pick-up lines,” Lydia mumbles, fully aware that the wolf can hear her. Scott’s not picking up. He’s probably still playing. She tries Allison instead. It begins to ring.

“Lydia!”

“Shush!” the dial tone can be heard.

“No! Look out!”

There is a flash of claws and just in time Lydia spins around, the claws missing. Her phone however sinks through her fingers and drops, sliding to the edge of the pool. In front of her the lizard-thing is crouched, snarling.

Lydia glances at her phone, but there is no way she can get it, not without the creature going for her. She steps backwards, and it steps towards her threateningly. It hisses, tail lashing from side to side. “Oh boy,” Lydia whispers, because this is it. She’s going to get ripped apart by this thing, and she has nothing and nobody to defend her.

It’s like Peter all over again, but this time Lydia wishes Stiles was with her.

Someone’s answered her phone, but she can’t talk, not with this thing stalking towards her.

“Lydia!” Derek shouts out from where he’s still floating in the middle of the pool. He’s lucky she actually found something for him to lie on - she can considering just throwing him in. What is interesting is how the creature won’t touch the water. It won’t go near Derek.

But it’s going after her.

Her back meets the wall and she freezes, because this is it. There is nowhere else to go and she can’t keep walking away. It takes another steps, tilting its head and regarding her almost curiously.

“LYDIA!” Derek shouts out desperately.

She clenches her eyes closed, something bubbling up inside her chest, unfamiliar and cold, icy cold. It’s like death (her own) maybe, and it’s reflected there in those cold unfeeling yellow reptilian eyes.

The mirror behind her is cold to the touch, but she barely notices. Her whole body is cold, ice cold and her eyes fly open just as the creature snarls, revealing a mouth of jagged silvery white teeth.

She can’t hold it in anymore, and the feeling shoves it’s way brutally out of her chest.

She screams.

 

On the lacrosse field Scott flinches, as something piercing rings through his hearing. He winces, hands over his ears, and looks around. In the stands Allison is pressing random buttons on her phone, and she notices Scott’s reaction, eyes widening. She can’t hear the sound, she doesn’t have super senses, but Scott can. It vibrates through him, and long after the sound is gone, he can still hear it in his head.

It’s a scream, and it’s one he recognises.

“Lydia!”

 

The mirror behind her shatters, but whether that’s because of her scream or because of the claws that smash into it in anguish remains to be seen. She slides down, her arms coming up to protect her face as the shards clatter to the floor around her.

The lizard looks pained, shaking its head viciously back and forth. It stiffens, tail stilling it’s never ending movement as it’s gaze fixes on the mirror shards scattered along the floor.

Slowly it reaches out one claw towards the shards, curiously and almost sadly, as if it doesn’t recognise the shape it sees reflected.

Then the doors to the swimming pool slam open, “Lydia!” Scott and Allison appear, wide-eyed.

The creature flinches and letting out another screech it bounds up, straight to the roof. Scott and Allison freeze, gaze following it as it crashes straight through the roof and out into the night. “Oh my god!” Allison stares, but jumps into action, running over to Erica.

Scott runs for Lydia, and she sits there, back to the wall, knees to her chest, shivering. Her hands are bloody and she blinks at Scott.

“Are you okay?” he’s asking, but she can barely hear him. She’s in shock, she thinks, because there is a dark shape leaning over Scott’s shoulder.

“Lydia?” Peter asks her, gently, “Are you okay?”

She shoves him away, and Scott sprawls out backwards on the floor, eyes wide. “Lydia?” he asks. She blinks at him, because it’s just him.

There’s no Peter, just Scott. In the distance Allison is trying to fish Derek out of the pool. Lydia’s gaze focuses back to Scott and finally relaxes, because she’s safe. No lizard. No Peter.

Around them the broken pieces of mirror are stained with blood and shattered reflections.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys guess where that clearing is that Stiles and Scott were bitten? It’s the same place they fought and Allison turned up finding them there. But where else is it?


	8. Reflection

“Guess what?” Allison drops into the seat next to Scott in economics.

“I think I know.”

Scott is glaring at Isaac who is back in school. He’s meant to be a fugitive but instead he’s joined the leather jacket club and is smirking at the board smugly. Allison glares at Isaac’s back and if she could stab him with her gaze poor Isaac’s jacket would be sinking rapidly due to the number of holes in it.

“Did you translate the bestiary?” Scott asks, “Anything useful?”

Allison shakes her head, because nothing is that easy. “The bestiary is all in archaic Latin. So I gave it to Lydia.”

“Why Lydia?”

“She speaks archaic Latin.” Allison shrugs, “I didn’t ask. I did some general research and the only thing I found was it’s meant to be a South American myth. Usually what people think are kanima’s… or they spell it differently as well… but they usually turn out to be anacondas.”

“Snakes,” Scott winces.

“Yeah. But the rumours are the same surrounding them. They go after murderers. They’re a weapon of revenge.”

Scott frowns, “That sounds like it’s not the kanima making the decisions. It sounds like somebody is using them.”

“Like a puppet.” Allison winces.

That’s when Jackson drops into a seat behind them, “What’s a kanima?” the jock asks.

Allison and Scott spin around. She stares at the blonde, because where did Jackson hear that term. She must have spoken out loud because he pulls a face and his eyes flit from Erica to Isaac and then back to Scott and Allison before admitting, “Because werewolf one and two are going to kill whoever the kanima is.”

“Do they know?” Scott leans out of his chair slightly, “Do they know who it is?” his tone is desperate and Jackson sneers at him.

“No. But they have this sort of test. It involves being paralyzed from the neck down. Are either of you familiar with that feeling?” His voice is bitter and yeah - Allison winces - because Derek and his betas would totally do that. She wouldn’t be surprised if one of them had even bothered to creep in through Jackson’s window, because that was a werewolf thing - right? In fact the only werewolf who had yet to do that to her was Stiles.

“No,” Scott is frowning, “Is that what they’re going to do?” he gapes at Jackson then turns to look at where Erica and Isaac smugly sit.

And Allison hasn’t even known Scott for that long but she recognises that look. The ‘we have to do something’ look and she just knows she’s going to be dragged along with him on whatever plan he comes up with.

At least she came prepared.

 

Lydia slides down next to him near the end of school and Stiles frowns, because so far he’s made it through the whole day without interacting with any of them - Scott, Allison, Lydia - not even Erica or Isaac who are strolling around like they own the place. He hasn’t spoken to any of them since he bumped into Allison the other night.

Now Lydia sits down next to him, opening a big book that looks like some sort of dictionary, pulling a laptop out of her bag and then a pen and pad of paper, and immediately goes to work writing stuff down. He’s skipped chemistry (with permission and everything) with the express purpose of studying, and he had not planned to spend it with Lydia sitting next to him.

So he stops paging through his mix of books on coyotes and shapeshifting, sighing and staring at her until she looks up. “What are you doing?” Stiles frowns at her, then glances around to see if everywhere else is full, because Lydia wouldn’t be sitting by him for no reason.

“Translating a bestiary from archaic Latin,” Lydia remarks calmly, scrawling something down.

“You speak archaic Latin?” he narrows his eyes, not really surprised, but still amazed at how clever Lydia can be when she puts her mind to it.

She glances up at him, hair falling down her face. “I got bored with regular Latin,” she shrugs.

“Well you’re doing a really good job with that,” he says, gesturing to whatever it is Lydia has been writing down. She frowns, because those aren’t words. None that Stiles recognises. He tilts his head, and he thinks Lydia may be writing backwards. In fact it looks kind of like ‘help me’ written over and over again across her page…

She slams her notebook closed, “Okay,” she says, “Enough chit chat. I need to ask you something.”

He straightens slightly, almost guiltily. Do they know about Malia, he wonders? Or is this something else?

 

Scott’s noticed him watching. But then again Derek has made no effort to hide. Why should he? He’s keeping an eye on everyone. Isaac and Erica are mingling with the student population, trying to find anyone with a potential werewolf bite.

Really Derek should be talking to Stiles. If Peter had bitten anybody else Stiles would be the person to talk to.

But he doesn’t want to send his betas anywhere near Stiles, so he’ll talk to the blue-eyed omega another time. Right now they need to find out who the kanima is.

It’s not Jackson. That had been his top thought. Jackson was a snake after all, and if the form he took reflected the person that he was then he’d be the prime candidate to turn into a giant lizard.

But Jackson had spent a good hour paralyzed on the floor of the industrial depot where Derek had made his base, and everyone knew a snake couldn’t be poisoned by it’s own venom.

The kanima is an abomination. Derek has heard only rumours, about one having to be put down in South America. Primarily the werewolf curse will turn the person bitten or clawed to a wolf, but anything was possible. Shape shifters came in many different forms depending on the person and how they took to the curse. The infection itself tended to mutate violently as well.

And sometimes dangerously. He needs to find the kanima and kill it as soon as possible. There are hunters in town, and the battle lines are being drawn once more. Scott’s stranded somewhere in the middle with his friends, while Stiles is staying out of the way.

For now. Derek knows it’s not possible to keep out of it, not really. Everyone - Lydia, Allison, Jackson - they’re all a part of this now, whether they like it or not.

At least, he thinks, his betas are happy. Isaac’s back at school, and Jackson looks nervous every time he sees the blonde. He deserves it, Derek thinks, then chides himself for bullying the bully. Jackson lacks self-confidence, and in some ways if the bite had worked he would have made a good werewolf.

It might have improved his self-confidence for one.

It wouldn’t have improved his attitude. The guy was still full of himself enough to video tape himself, not even worrying what would have happened if anybody had gotten their hands on the tape.

It’s just as well nothing happened. But Derek still isn’t sure what went wrong with that bite. Maybe because it was the first, or maybe Jackson’s immune.

Like Lydia.

Lydia who was bitten.

Lydia who was bitten, but can’t be the kanima because Derek had seen her standing there, the kanima stalking towards her and as clever as Lydia is, she can’t be in two places at the same time.

He should test her anyway, he thinks, but she might just be immune to the venom as well. Ideally he should be testing the whole school of insecure teenagers who have no idea who they’re meant to be.

Scott wouldn’t approve, and he’s probably right.

This isn’t the way he should be doing this.

Scott would have been a better alpha, he thinks, almost bitterly.

There’s a kind of bitter irony to that.

 

"Why aren't I turning?" she thrusts her bitten wrist out at him.

Stiles frowns, “I don’t know,” he says nervously, because he has no idea. He and Peter both were expecting her to turn. That had been why Peter had bitten her in the first place after all. “Peter bit you.” he says, “You should have turned… I don’t know what happened…”

“You were there!” Lydia snaps, leaning closer and a lock of hair falling in her face, “You tell me!”

"Look, I'm sorry about that…"

"You _forced_ a bite upon me, the same way he did to you and Scott. Without your consent and sure you might be happy about it now, but Scott isn't and I wasn't, and you know some people call that rape, Stiles."

She's furious, and Stiles feels nothing but icy guilt in his stomach, "Woah…” his fingers tap nervously on the table. He feels a driving need to do something, to make it up to Lydia. “You came to me here!" he reminds her.

Lydia swallows, “The thing killing people,” she whispers, “It’s called a kanima.” And reluctantly Stiles leans back towards her, because this is news to him, “It’s a werewolf bite gone wrong.”

“Is that why you’re translating a bestiary on supernatural creatures?” Stiles frowns, peering at the title. He pulls a face at the language because those words look completely made up.

She nods, “I thought it was me,” she rubs at her wrist in anxiety, “But it can’t be. I saw the creature, so it’s not me. But that… it would have explained…”

Stiles frowns, “Lydia?” he asks, “Explained what?”

She is silent for a long time and for a moment Stiles thinks of just dropping the conversation. Then she speaks up, her gaze staring off blankly into the distance, “I see him.” She admits.

Stiles could swear his heart skips a beat, and he stares at her, dumbfounded. Then it’s accompanied by a rush of bitterness and his one hand curls into a fist as she elaborates.

“In mirrors,” she says, “Anything with a reflection… In the corner of my eye but when I turn my head… there is nothing there. Sometimes it’s like he’s standing right behind me. I can't tell if… if it's in my head… if it's from the bite or…"

She stops, because Stiles is laughing. Because he might be crazy, but he’s not the only one. Stiles hasn’t been right since Peter sunk his claws into his neck, and now Lydia’s all broken - a puzzle put together the wrong way - and it happened since Peter sank his teeth into her.

Stiles just helped break Lydia Martin and he can’t stop laughing.

“What is it?” she snaps, “What’s so funny?” her tone is demanding.

“It’s just…” Stiles’ face is twisted in derision, “You’re all so sorry for yourselves, but you seem to forget that in all this, I'm the one who was there. I'm the one whose head he twisted his way into and fucked up to make me his perfect little beta." His words are bitter because that’s what scares him. Stiles has no idea of how much of what he did was himself and what was Peter. But Peter’s dead and he still killed someone, so does that make him just as bad as his former alpha?

“Are you asking me to trust you?” Lydia frowns.

“I wouldn’t trust me,” Stiles shrugs, carelessly. “I killed people. To death!”

“You haven't even tried with Scott, have you? You've just pushed him away further because you think that might keep him safe."

"Sometimes," Stiles says, head angling to his shoulder, "The people closest to you can be the ones holding you back the most."

"What you don't realise is that he's already in this mess. We all are. So either we stick together and start working like a team, like a Pack, or we all fall. Understand?" She glares at him, before rolling her eyes, “So answer my question. Do you know what Peter did to me? Do you have any idea why I keep seeing him everywhere? Did you… did you hallucinate as well, when you killed for him? Do you see him too?”

Stiles pauses for half a second before shrugging and answering. "He's in my head all the time," his head tilts to stare into the distance, but for once, surprisingly he’s not actually hallucinating. He wonders how bad it is that he’s actually aware that they’re hallucinations. Maybe that’s a sign that he’s getting better, or maybe it’s a sign that he should probably be seeking help. He shrugs, “But that’s nothing new.”

He ducks his head back to the book on coyotes, mind slipping back to trying to think about Malia and how to help her (if she even wants help, because Stiles can only offer so much before being rejected much like he’s rejected Scott’s hand of assistance…)

“That doesn’t tell me anything.” Lydia sounds annoyed at him now. Stiles gaze drifts up and around the library, because he’s seriously considering switching seats.

His amber eyes land on where Jackson and Danny are bent over a laptop, with the creepy photographer that Stiles keeps picking up bad vibes sitting nearby. Stiles could swear he keeps scenting the guy - Matt - around Allison a lot, but never sees the pair together. “What are they doing?” he asks Lydia.

“Who?” she follows his gaze, “Oh - Danny’s fixing some video for Jackson.”

“Video of what?”

“Him. Sleeping.”

“A _sex_ tape?”

“He claims it isn’t. I don’t believe him.”

Stiles frowns, “You said the kanima was a werewolf bite gone wrong.” He says slowly.

“Yes,” Lydia purses her lips, “And?”

“And.” Stiles gazes steadily at where Jackson and Danny are discussing how to restore lost footage, because apparently there was at least two hours missing from the tape. “And the only other werewolf bite I know of apart from Derek’s orphan gang…” he tilts his head in direction of the other table.

There is a pause.

Lydia’s head snaps around, wide-eyed in realisation, “Jackson.”

 

Danny’s fingers are tapping at his keyboard when the pair slink over, and judging by the look on his face he has no idea what to make of them. Lydia perches on the desk besides Jackson, crossing her legs as she leans to talk to her ex-boyfriend, while Stiles plonks himself down between Danny and Matt, just as Matt flashes a picture.

“Hey!” Matt protests and Stiles shrugs at the guy.

“Sorry,” he says, not at all apologetic, “Mark, isn’t it?”

“Matt,” the photographer glares, then raises the camera and takes another picture almost defiantly, “What are you doing?”

“We need to talk to Jackson.” Stiles says, turning to look at where Lydia is arguing with said person.

Jackson is pulling away from her, looking angry, “I don’t want to talk to you!” he complains, glaring. “Either of you.” his heart stutters a little bit when he looks towards Stiles, and the omega thinks he might enjoy that just a little bit more than he should.

“God, what the hell did you do to my camera?” Matt mumbles behind Stiles, peering down at the screen, “The flash must be broken… I swear that lens flare wasn’t there before…”

“Jackson. You and I are going to talk now. Or Stiles is going to help me persuade you.” And Jackson stiffens, glancing just over to where Stiles flashes a quick grin, just enough to see a canine and cobalt eyes.

The jock shoves everything in his bag, every movement screaming reluctance, but it just comes off as annoyance as with exaggerated movements he stands up slowly, “Fine.” He says, looking to where Lydia is still perched on the desk, “Let’s talk.”

“Maybe not in the library,” Danny doesn’t even look over his shoulder, “Where I’m _working_.”

“Come on then,” Jackson’s shoulders are tense, and Stiles bounds up, grinning, just as there is a loud crash.

Heads snap around, Stiles spinning his whole body around so he’s facing the loud sound. The library door is all wood, with the exception of the glass window pane at the top. It’s thick glass, but whatever has just thrown itself through has shattered it into pieces.

The thing lands and it’s head lifts up, scenting the air.

“What the hell--?” Danny and Matt are scrambling up, eyes wide.

“Is that a coyote?” Jackson sneers, but even he looks wary. Nobody particularly wants to tangle with a coyote. Encounters with the creature isn’t exactly fatal, but they can give nasty bites. Jackson looks ready to take on the four legged creature, making a grab for his lacrosse stick when Stiles knocks into him.

“Don’t!” he snaps, gaze fixed on the animal. Because it’s his coyote. He shouldn’t be possessive over a goddamn coyote but he recognises her scent.

“Someone call animal control…” Danny says, just as the coyote - Malia - snarls. He and Matt stumble back several steps.

“Go!” Jackson shouts, “Get out of here - there’s another door. Call someone!”

“But what about…?”

That’s when the coyote moves. She darts forwards and then to the side lunging forwards. Matt and Danny stop wasting time and bolt, and Jackson grabs Lydia shoving her back towards the book shelves and out of the way.

“Are you crazy?” Jackson shouts over to where Stiles moves towards the coyote, but then Jackson and Lydia don’t know. Nobody knows and this… this is dangerous. Coyotes get shot regularly, but she isn’t just a coyote…

She moves again, sliding past the bookcases and Stiles bolts after her.

 

Scott needs to talk to Derek about stopping whatever crazy plan the alpha werewolf has come up with. He peers out the window and considers the merits of missing chemistry. As it is they have had a cover teacher ever since Stiles killed their last teacher.

Scott winces at that thought and glances over to where his friend (actually in school for once) had been enthusiastically highlighting his whole page yellow without somebody picking on him for it. Stiles isn’t there anymore, having slipped out with the excuse of going to the library, and like a predator Lydia had stalked after him. Scott wonders how that conversation is going.

He sighs and turns to look back out the window at where Derek is lurking and has been lurking since first period that morning. He’s so busy trying to work out how to persuade Derek to change his tactics he barely notices Erica slide into the seat next to him which has been horribly vacant since Stiles left him.

He doesn’t notice until she leans towards him, and one hand rests on his thigh. He jumps, his knee knocking against the desk as he spins around to her.

“Do you know who it is?” Erica purrs, chest angled as she leans towards him.

Scott leans away, “What?”

“Do you.” Erica asks, tongue just visible at the corner of her lips, “Know. Who. The kanima. Is?”

The bell rings then, and that’s all Scott needs to grab his bag and books and leap for the door, Erica ducking out of the way as he shoves past.

He bursts out into the corridor, several other students mingling as classes end. He hears footsteps behind him and doesn’t turn around to look to see who is following him. “Why is Derek lurking like a creeper?” he asks, then instantly regrets the words. He’s beginning to sound like Stiles. “What is he waiting for?”

“If we find the kanima,” Isaac answers, “Then we’re going to kill it.”

“It?” Scott turns, eyeing Isaac as the beta stalks towards him, claws scratching along the lockers, “That’s a person half of the time!”

“And the other half of the time they’re a killer lizard!” Isaac shrugs, not seeing the problem.

Scott shakes his head, “Killing isn’t right.” He says, catching sight of Erica and Allison looking like they’re about to kill each other further down the corridor. He shakes his head, shoving past Isaac and back towards them, “Killing is never right,” he says over his shoulder, “No matter how you justify it.”

 

Scott practically runs from chemistry class and Allison goes after him. She is knocked aside, something almost dislocating her shoulder and she crashes into the lockers, trying to keep herself upright.

“I thought hunters were less clumsy than that,” Erica looks at her, but offers no help.

“I thought the full moon was last week,” Allison shrugs, “But I guess it’s just your time of the month again.”

Erica’s grin is thin. She steps forwards, hips swaying in a manner that would be almost seductive if it wasn’t for the claws and the threat in every tense muscle and glare. “Tell me - don’t you get jealous?”

That throws Allison, “Jealous?” she asks, not sure what Erica is talking about.

“Yeah,” Erica shrugs, almost carelessly, “About Scott?”

Oh, Allison realises. “You think that by putting your hand on his thigh - that’s going to hurt me?” she asks, laughing. The laugh is fake, but the derision in her voice isn’t.

“Well why on earth…” Erica steps forwards, “Would Scott? Want to spend ten minutes with you in secret when he can spend all his time with me? I have to say, you guys are _cute_ together. But you know, I've always had this feeling like I'm a little psychic. I just don't think you're going to last.”

Allison turns, and in that movement she slides out the weapon she had in her bag. The crossbow is small and on a trigger pull, but it still comes up neatly in the space between the two girls, an arrow already notched and resting just above Erica’s heart. “You know I’ve always been kind of a good shot,” Allison smirks, “And I’ve always had this feeling like I can just never miss a target.”

Erica is slowly stepping backwards.

“Woah!” with a skidding sound Scott appears, between Erica and Allison. The hunter reluctantly lowers her crossbow, glancing up and down the corridor, but it’s empty. School is over and nobody is willing to linger for long. “No shooting each other!” Scott says, emphasising his words, “Why the hell are you guys at each other’s throats when there is something bigger and more dangerous out there?”

“She’s the one who brought a crossbow into school,” Erica sneers.

“Because there is a killer lizard on the loose,” Allison snaps back, “Or did you forget that it paralysed you the other night and left you for dead while Derek ran away.”

“Lydia ran too,” Erica points out, “Pretty little Lydia couldn’t defend herself, not the way you can. So who is she going to hide behind, huh, next time that thing shows up?”

“Lydia can look after herself.” Allison retaliates. Isaac is there, pulling Erica back gently.

Erica snorts, “Yeah, she can scream for help pretty well. Where is she now anyway?”

There is a pause.

“She’s with Stiles in the library,” Scott says, and both the other wolves look a bit nervous at that. Allison thinks that if Peter was basically the bogey man of werewolf culture, the monstrous alpha that wasn’t human but neither was he a true wolf, then Stiles has become his evil little minion. She wonders if the blue-eyed wolf even knows that. He probably doesn’t.

“Oh, like that’s safe,” Isaac snaps.

“It’s perfectly safe.”

“Because you trust him?” Isaac narrows his eyes.

“Yes!” Scott snaps, and at that precise moment there is the sound of shattering glass.

And Allison doesn’t need to be a werewolf to know that it’s coming from the library.

 

Lydia has no idea what is happening. She and Jackson freeze, stepping back between the book shelves. Lydia pauses, because some sixth senses tells her that the coyote is padding down the other side of the shelf.

“Here…” Jackson edges around cautiously, and all Lydia hears is a snarl before Jackson steps back towards her, almost falling on top of her. “Maybe not.” He says, “Where’s Stilinski?”

Lydia doesn’t know. Why is there even a coyote in the school in the first place?

And why wasn’t Stiles surprised to see it?

“Quickly,” she turns Jackson around so that he’s facing her, “Show me your bite.”

“My what?”

“Your werewolf bite. Show it to me!”

“Is now really the time?” he snaps. Then his eyes narrow, “It was you!” he accuses.

Bewildered she frowns, “What was me?” she asks.

“You edited the video.” And it takes Lydia several seconds to even remember what video. “You cut out the moment that I shifted! You’re the only one who could - the only one who has a key... A key that you never gave back.”

Lydia can’t believe him. Even now, while there is a coyote stalking them and the issue of hunters and werewolf packs, it’s still all about Jackson. “Why would I do that?” she asks, disbelieving, “Tell me why I would waste my time on something as petty as editing a video?”

Jackson makes a face as if it’s obvious, “To stop me getting what I want,” he glares, “Because you’re jealous. Because I dumped you. Maybe because you wanted to take that from me, my moment, like you take everything. Or maybe you just thought you were protecting me. I don’t know what goes on in that weird brain of yours…”

“Are you an idiot?” Lydia snaps, “Why should I care about you being a werewolf?” she asks, “I’m only asking because I have to. Otherwise I wouldn’t want anything to do with it. So…” she crosses her arms, “I’ll you mine if you show me yours,” then without waiting for a reply, she rips off the bandage and shoves her wrist in his face.

The wound is neat, but still raw. Each fang mark can be clearly seen, a soft pink against her pale skin. Jackson’s face goes pale at seeing it, and he steps backwards from her.

“Show me,” Lydia snaps. It’s more of a demand really and Jackson jumps to obeying, lifting up his shirt and raising it.

There is no bandage. There is not even a scratch on him. The skin has healed completely and utterly.

Which means he’s not immune. Which means that by all knowledge Jackson should be a werewolf.

Except he’s not.

Lydia glances up to meet Jackson’s confused gaze, and she catches sight of rippling scales flashing across his neck.

Her stomach just drops, and she backs away. “Lydia?” Jackson frowns, “What’s wrong?” he winces, as if in pain, as if he’s not even aware that his skin is dancing and morphing and…

Lydia bolts. She spins around and darts around the table she had just been sitting at, taking less than a second to observe where Stiles is crouched down over his bag, holding something out to where the coyote is sniffing at him cautiously. She moves as fast as she can, and the coyote startles, her ears pressing back.

“What? Lydia… not now… I’ve almost…”

“Jackson. He’s the kanima. Go. Go now. He’s turning. Like, right now.”

“Right _now_?”

There is a crash and the screech of a lizard. She and Stiles whirl around, just as a bookcase topples over. She catches sight of a long, flickering tail.

“Right now.” Her fingers close in his collar and drag him up. She grabs onto her bag and heads straight for the door, ignoring the broken shards and shouldering it open, stumbling out into the corridor and straight into Isaac and Erica.

The beta werewolf startles, blinking, “What was that?” Erica is staring at the broken glass window, “What happened?”

Lydia doesn’t want to talk to the betas, so she shoves past them, running for the end of the corridor. Stiles stumbles out, something clutched in his hand. He freezes and both of the other werewolves perform a simultaneous step-back that would be funny if it wasn’t so serious. Stiles isn’t even paying attention, because at that moment there is another screech and crash.

“What is that…?” Erica squints and Stiles darts after Lydia.

“Homicidal lizard!” he says, and the betas don’t even wait around, they turn and follow Lydia and Stiles down the corridor and out of the door, almost tripping down the steps.

She falls almost into the warm body that catches her, and Scott’s there, a strong reassuring presence holding her upright, his hands on her shoulders. Allison hovers in the background and - is that a crossbow - she almost shoots Stiles when he appears after her, then once again when Isaac and Erica appear in a disarray of ‘we didn’t expect this’.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Scott asks, trying to calm her down.

“The kanima.” Lydia says, “It’s there. I mean… there was a coyote that broke in, and then I was talking to Jackson and he…” she meets Scott’s gaze, “Then the kanima appeared screeching and we just ran. We just…”

“She’s after the doll.”

Lydia glances at Stiles, frowning, because Stiles obviously isn’t even vaguely worried about the homicidal lizard. Except he must be because he has this wide-eyed look in his eyes, and is running his hand through his hair in panic.

“What is it about the doll?” he frowns.

“You’re still worried about the coyote?” Lydia snaps, “There is a homicidal lizard trying to kill us and you’re _worried about the coyote_?!”

Stiles’ head snaps up, “Oh, you think I didn’t notice the scales and the tail and the sharp teeth?” he snaps, “Yes! I noticed! But why the hell would she come to the school? Why the hell does she want this doll so badly that she’d come all the way to the…” his face twists in realisation, “School.” He whispers.

“What the hell is that?” Isaac frowns, and for the first time Lydia notices the thing Stiles is holding in his hand. It’s a baby’s doll, with torn clothes and dirt smeared all over it. It looks like something from a horror movie.

“It’s the doll,” Stiles frowns, “But it’s not hers. It’s her sisters. It was her _sister’s_ …”

“Who?” Scott looks puzzled. Allison looks slightly more aware, but it is Lydia who answers.

“The _coyote_ wanted the _doll_?” Stiles is still talking to himself.

“What coyote?” Erica whirls around, “Why aren’t we going back in there to deal with the kanima?”

“After you,” Allison gestures at the door, “Be my guest,” because the truth is none of them want to face that thing again.

“I don’t get it,” Scott frowns, “What coyote?”

“A coyote broke into the library. Then the kanima appeared.” Lydia neglects to mention it is Jackson. That’s probably a good thing as Isaac and Erica are still planning to kill the kanima. She can’t think of anybody who would have an issue with killing Jackson, except maybe Scott and then again Scott wouldn’t kill a fly.

“So is the coyote still in there?” Allison turns to the school.

“Oh shit,” Stiles shoves the doll at Isaac and without even looking at them he takes off in a sprint towards the school.

Isaac looks disgusted and as if to make things worse the doll lets out a high pitched squeak. The werewolf drops it, startled. “Is he crazy?”

“Should I…” Scott stares, as the doors swing closed, “Should I go after him?”

“Come on!” Allison is the first to move, raising her crossbow and jogging up the stairs. She barely gets to the door than there is a crash and everybody turns, just as the window to the side shatters. The kanima lands, shaking it’s head, and it doesn’t even look like Jackson now, Lydia thinks. It’s a monster that doesn’t even know who it is.

There are police sirens in the distance, and she thinks that Matt and Danny must have succeeded in calling the cops or animal control.

It’s a bit late now though, she thinks, just as the kanima leaps up and bounds off, tail lashing side to side as it darts from bush to tree to a car roof, it’s claws sliding in. It darts off, and vanishes, out of sight.

“Derek’s going to kill us,” Erica sighs, and that’s the point Stiles reappears, tumbling out of the door holding a spitting coyote by the scruff. The pair trip and stumble down the steps, the coyote being dislodged from Stiles’ grip and landing in a heap.

“You went back for the coyote?” Lydia doesn’t understand it - what the hell isn’t she getting?

Stiles shoves himself up, just as the coyote crouches there, head raised and for a moment their gazes meet. “She’s not a coyote,” he says, quietly, “Are you?” and the question is directed to the animal itself. Herself.

Stiles keeps calling the coyote a ‘she’.

“Stiles,” Lydia is losing patience, “Get rid of your coyote.”

"Her _name_ is _Malia_."

Scott has this look that suggests he thinks Stiles has lost it.

The coyote - Malia - isn’t planning on staying. Staring at Stiles for a few minutes more, she lunges forwards, startling Isaac into hopping away as she snaps at his feet. She’s not trying to bite him though; she simply snatches up the doll still lying at his feet, and then backs away, tail wagging slightly.

“Sorry,” Stiles whispers, but that - that makes no sense either.

Then the coyote turns and bolts, doll in her jaws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing Stiles and Coyote!Malia far more than I should have.


	9. Enemy

With a screech the cop cars and what looks like animal control begin to pull up outside the school. They must be here for the coyote, Scott thinks. The coyote that Stiles has somehow made friends with because the coyote is a ‘she’ and does that mean the coyote is a person?

“What was that?” he asks as Stiles pushes himself into a standing position, brushing himself off.

“Close,” Stiles says, gaze guarded, “J… the kanima was in the library still and so I grabbed Malia and ran. It knocked over another bookcase and I thought it came after us but evidently…” he gestures at the window that is broken and winces, “Are they going to blame that on one little coyote?” he wonders out loud.

“ _Malia_?” Scott frowns, “You _named_ the _coyote_?”

“Never mind about the coyote!” Allison says, hopping down the stairs towards them, “The kanima. It headed off into town.”

“Derek and Boyd are on its tail,” Erica appears next to Allison, and then appears to realise she shouldn’t be so happy to be working with them; “You guys stay and look after your coyote.”

“Where are you going?” Lydia frowns.

“We’re going after the kanima,” Isaac says, ducking down the stairs. He doesn’t look back at them, as Erica slips into place behind him.

“Great,” Scott begins to follows after them, “We’ll help.” There is a spring in his step and a determined glint in his eye, as if half an hour before Erica and Allison weren’t about to commit bodily harm to each other.

Isaac stops, but its Erica who turns to face Scott, “Uh - no you’re not.”

“Yeah,” Lydia rolls her eyes, “We are. Face it you two just can’t deal with the lizard man who keeps paralyzing everyone on your own.” She shrugs, “So we’ll help.”

“Is Stiles coming with us?” Erica glances with narrowed eyes that flash gold at the omega wolf. Stiles frowns, looking slightly indignant at her attitude towards him. “What’s he doing here anyway?”

“Helping,” Allison says, before Stiles can insult one or both of the wolves.

The two betas can’t really argue, because at that moment someone calls out a name, and Danny and Matt appear.

“You got out!” Danny says to Lydia with relief in his voice, “The police are looking over everything but they can’t find the coyote. Just a lot of broken glass, several bookcases fell over and…” he frowns, looking around, “Where’s Jackson?”

“They want to ask you two some questions,” Matt points at Stiles and then Lydia.

“Yeah, okay?” Stiles nods, “That’s great, go and tell them we’ll be there. Like… in a minute or so…” he turns around and grabs Lydia’s hand. Lydia lets herself be dragged away.

“We’re just going to find Jackson,” she shouts to Danny over her shoulder, and without waiting the beta wolves take off after the pair. Allison and Scott follow on their heels, and Danny and Matt stare after the six teenagers, blinking.

“I have no idea what that is about,” Danny admits, “Scott and Stiles I can understand. Isaac and Erica, maybe. Stiles, Allison and Scott even I can explain? But the six of them?” he shakes his head, “I’ve got nothing.”

 

Derek follows after the kanima down the road. His feet pound on the asphalt, and ahead of him a tail whips out of sight around the corner.

He runs faster.

He’s vaguely aware of Boyd behind him, but the beta can’t match his alpha’s speed. So it’s Derek who reaches the car park first, it’s Derek who vaults over the fence, letting the wolf come to the top. He looks up, eyes red and fangs bared. The lizard looks almost like it’s waiting smugly for him, tail lashing from side to side.

The area is an open tarmac section with concrete arches spread out across it. Derek takes note of his surroundings, because he can use that as an advantage. He moves forwards and the kanima moves to meet him. It’s claws slice out but this time Derek is prepared for it’s speed. He ducks back, leaning away from the swipes. Once. Twice. Three times and it pauses to snarl, then looks ready to snap forwards.

He throws himself backwards from that one. The creature may prefer claws, but it has a mouthful of teeth and Derek doesn’t want to know what venom drip off those. He turns to dodge into a backflip, kicking at the lizard as he spins.

That only succeeds in making it more angry as it snarls, eyes flashing a reptilian yellow. Derek punches out, and it moves to the side with a flick of its tail. His fist crashes into the pillar, shattering it into rubble as he misses.

The kanima takes advantage of that, throwing him back. His back scrapes against the asphalt, and the lizard looks prepared to lunge.

Then Boyd is there, and the claws strike the car door the steadfast beta has picked up to defend himself. The kanima’s claws spark of the metal and with a snarl Boyd shoulders forwards, barrelling into the shapeshifter. The kanima flinches back, leaping away. Derek scrambles to his feet, but the kanima is leaping up, climbing along the concrete pillars and archways as if they were the floor. It’s claws nick the wires and sparks rain down from above them.

It’s blinding, but it doesn’t stop their hearing. Derek hears the screech of tyres, and more on instinct than anything he drags his beta back out of sight as gunshots ring out.

Thankfully Chris is shooting at the kanima. It drops down from the archway, but gets straight back to its feet, arm raised to strike when Chris shoots again. One. Two. Three. Four. Black blood bubbles up in the wounds and the lizard teeters there for a long moment.

Then it drops to the ground.

Derek tugs Boyd out of sight as Chris steps past the body, peering into the gloom for them. It’s a stupid move, turning your back on a fallen enemy.

But the hunter has good senses. As the kanima rises, bullets slowly being forced out of its body, Chris turns, bringing his gun up.

There is an empty click.

The hunter is out of bullets. Chris freezes, and in that moment the lizard kicks out, knocking Chris into the concrete pillar Derek punched a hole out of. The hunter’s head cracks against the bricks and where Derek crouches with Boyd in the shadows he winces. That has to hurt.

There is the slam of a door and Derek can’t see clearly, mist drifting in front of headlights. He can see a dark shape standing in front of the lizard which stares cautiously at the newcomer.

Then without a moment’s pause it bolts away, and Derek curses.

They’ve lost it.

 

There is a sharp beep as the call cancels, and Isaac drops his phone away from his ears, looking grimly towards the others. “Derek and Boyd lost it.” He passes on, but it’s news that Lydia isn’t surprised about. “They also say that the hunters are in town and to be careful.”

“Hunters?” Allison looks nervous, and she ducks back so she’s standing well away from the road, “You mean like my dad?”

“Your dad and granddad,” Isaac points out, “And they have guns. And probably assault rifles.” He grins, helpfully.

Lydia rolls her eyes, turning away. They’re standing on the side of one of the streets, and Scott, Stiles and Erica have darted away in different directions to try and catch a scent. Erica is first back.

“I haven’t got anything,” she says, flipping her hair over one shoulder, “Where the hell could it be heading?”

“To kill someone.” Allison says darkly, and despite her protests she looks more like a hunter than ever as she holds out her crossbow.

Isaac rolls his eyes, “Duh.” He says, “That explains the claws and fangs,” he then shrugs when everyone turns to him, “ _What_? It makes perfect sense.” Lydia just glances around anxiously, wondering what the hell Jackson is doing, if he even knows what he’s doing. She isn’t in the mood to appreciate sarcasm.

They also can’t tell Isaac or Erica, or give any hint to them that it’s Jackson. The betas will kill him without a thought.

“What do we do know?” someone asks from right behind her and Lydia jumps.

“Holy cr-“ she spins around, glaring angrily at Scott, “Don’t _do_ that!” He raises his arms defensively. “Did you find anything?” she demands.

“No! I’m sorry,” Scott shakes his head, “I thought I saw him but then I lost him again. And he doesn’t have a scent so I can’t track him!”

Erica lets out a frustrated hiss and begins pacing up and down the sidewalk, “So what now?” she snaps, “Now you losers went and lost it…”

“Us losers?” Allison glares. “We were the ones who found it in the first place!”

“Actually, _I_ was,” Lydia snaps, “When it tried to _eat_ me. For the second time, mind you.”

Isaac looks like he’s about to retort something, but is thankfully stopped by the sound of a ringing phone. Really, Lydia is pleased he’s found his self-confidence but now isn’t really the time to be showing it off. “Whose phone is that?” Erica frowns.

“Mine,” Allison pulls it out, warily. She’s probably worried it’s her family phoning her, and to be honest Lydia is surprised they haven’t yet demanded why she hasn’t made it home yet.

“Who is it?” Scott asks.

“I don’t know?” Allison answers it anyway, cautiously issuing a “Hello?” She puts it on speaker, just as a familiar voice echoes through.

“Allison? Hey!”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, sorry, I got a new phone after you killed my last one. Listen, I’ve found him! He’s outside the club… uh… Jungle…”

“The one downtown?” Lydia frowns.

“Yeah.”

“We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

 

They catch up to Stiles outside the club, the queue around the corner growing every minute. Stiles is leaning against the wall, fingers tapping nervously and he keeps glancing down the alley. “Is he talking to himself?” Erica asks, but by the time they get within hearing range Stiles is standing upright and alert. His eyes keep flaring blue but whether that’s from adrenaline or from the way he keeps tilting his head, listening to something nobody else can hear Lydia isn’t sure. “I found him!” he says, fingers still tapping away, “It’s got this weird echoing heart beat.”

“You mean an ectopic beat,” Lydia corrects him.

“Yeah, that.”

“How did you find him? He doesn’t have a scent.”

“Can you still hear it?” Scott peers around the corner, “Because I don’t see the kanima anywhere.”

“He went into the club,” Stiles jerks a thumb behind him.

“Why didn’t you follow?” Isaac looks panicked, “There are people in there!”

“I _can’t_!” Stiles hisses.

“Why not?”

“It’s a club.” Stiles blinks at the blank faces, “It’s got loud music and a shit-load of people in there smelling of sweat and hormones and all their heart beats like a marching band in my head!” he snaps, “I’m not going in there! I’ll go mad! I can’t tune everything out the way you can!” And for the first time in a long time Stiles looks vulnerable, wide-eyed and wary.

“Fine,” Erica snaps, “We’ll go in. We’ll find the kanima and then we’ll kill it.”

“Why the hell is it at a club though?” Allison frowns.

Stiles winces, nose wrinkling, “I think I know why,” he says, “I smell Armani.”

“Armani?”

Lydia’s heart skips a beat, “Danny,” she says, and she follows Stiles’ gaze to where Danny is flashing a smirk at the bouncer, holding out an ID that she knows to be fake. She wonders how much time they must have been wasting, searching for the kanima. It's late already, dark outside. Late enough for Danny to be clubbing (on a school night, really, Lydia mentally rolls her eyes). She moves with urgency towards the door, “Crap, crap, come on, we need to go, we need to…” she tries the door at the side, but it fails. “Come on!” she urges the lock to open magically or something.

Scott opens the door supernaturally, snapping off the door handle, “Great,” Isaac leaps forwards towards the entrance.

“We’ll cover this entrance,” Scott gestures at Isaac, himself and Lydia. He turns to the other three. “You three go the other way?”

“Sure that’s wise?” Lydia looks at Erica then Allison then Stiles.

“I can’t go in anyway,” Stiles wrinkles his nose, “Come on Ally Cat.” He turns and darts down the alley, Allison following. Erica trails after, baring her fangs as she braces herself to keep an eye on the other two.

Isaac hesitates in the doorway. “Move,” Lydia shoves past him, “Are you going in or not?”

“Not,” Isaac slips off after Erica, “I’m going to make sure she doesn’t kill them.”

“To make sure Erica doesn’t kill them? Or that Stiles doesn’t kill Erica?” Scott asks.

“Both!”

The strawberry-blonde turns away, yanking the door open and sliding into the club. She is greeted with loud music, strobe lights and yeah - she can see why Stiles didn’t even considering going in.

“What I don’t get…” Scott steps in after her, letting the sights and sounds wash over him, “Is why it is going after Danny?” he peers around, “Lydia?” he turns to her, “What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” Lydia looks terrified, “I shouldn’t be in here!”

“Why not?” Scott frowns, squinting around, “Hey! Everyone in here’s a dude. I think we’re in a gay club!”

Lydia steps away from where a drag queen in pawing at her hair, “Your powers of observation amaze me,” she drawls, “Why couldn’t Stiles come in here? At least he’s not the wrong gender.” She smooths down her dress again.

“He can’t stand the noise,” Scott half-shouts to her, “Too many sounds and scents,” he waves at the air as the pair fight their way through to the bar, “Can we have a drink?” he asks the guy behind the counter.

The barkeeper is narrowing his eyes at Lydia, “Are you really going to ask a girl’s age?” she shrugs one shoulder. He gives her a beer looking cowed and Scott gapes at her.

“What?” Lydia shrugs, sipping it innocently.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did. And hey.” She leans over Scott, “I found Danny.”

He is staring at the ceiling, “I found Jackson.”

 

“We need to lose Isaac and Erica.” Allison mumbles under her breath. The wolves shouldn’t hear, they’re too busy arguing about something, but Stiles? Stiles hears everything.

“I’ve got an idea.” Stiles whispers in her ear and ducks past, turning to face her, but Allison doesn’t miss how his gaze slides over her shoulder to observe the betas. “Just shoot one of ‘em.” He gestures at her crossbow.

She narrows her eyes at him. “If you can catch an arrow, then they certainly can.”

He winces, because yeah, she had tried to shoot him once and that probably wasn’t a good memory. But he pulls something from his pocket. It’s a scrunched up piece of paper, and it looks wet. Allison narrows her eyes, trying to work out why Stiles has a wet ball of paper when he warms her, “Careful about touching it.”

Then she realises when the gloppy substance on the paper must be.

“I grabbed this from library when I went back for Malia. I thought it might be useful,” Stiles tells her, and of course Stiles would grab something like this on the off chance it might be useful. “They’ll catch the arrow. What you need to do is to make that the point.”

“Wha-“ Allison is still trying to work out what that stuff is. Then… “Oh.” She blinks, “ _Oh_.”

Stiles chucks the vial to her and she catches it with one hand, pulling the cork stopper out with her teeth. “We’ve phoned Derek,” Isaac says, stalking forwards, “What are the pair of you doing?”

“On three?” Allison asks.

“Three.” Stiles says as a reply, and in one swift step he moves towards Isaac, smirking and bringing his arm down across Isaac’s temple. The beta crumples and Stiles eyes his fallen body, making sure he’s unconscious.

“Oh you backstabbing _assholes!”_ Erica’s claws slide out and her eyes flash gold as she moves towards them, just as Allison brings up crossbow and shoots.

Erica leans back, matrix-style to catch the crossbow bolt. She straightens, shaking out her hair as she steps forwards, “You didn't really think that would work, did you?” she sneers.

“Actually I did.” Allison smirks, and Erica’s eyes widen as she peels her fingers off the sticky, venom coated arrow. Seconds later her body crumples forwards and Allison steps gently past her, pausing to brush a lock of hair out of Erica’s face.

“I thought you were psychic, _bitch_!”

Stiles laughs as he walks around the fallen beta, taking care to step on the phone lying nearby. “Tell Derek I say ‘hi’,” he says, and Allison turns, letting him follow her back to the club, to Scott and Lydia, to who she thinks is probably Jackson, leaving the betrayed betas unconscious and paralyzed in the alleyway.

 

The screams are starting just as they round back to the front door. Allison looks torn for a moment. “Go!” Stiles tells her, and she doesn’t hesitate, darting inside before the bouncer is even aware of her. Stiles instantly loses sight of her, and for a moment he worries, because he should be in there, he should be helping his friends.

He steps towards the door, just as his phone rings in his pocket. Nobody has his number except now Allison, so he’s cautious to answer it.

It’s his father. Stiles has barely had the phone for a day or two, but his dad has already programmed himself in under ‘Sheriff’. “Yo.” Stiles says, “How things going daddy-o…”

“Stiles. What is all this about a coyote?”

“Oh.” Stiles ducks back into the alley he was in earlier, “That’s Malia. So you know you sent me out looking for the dead girl? I found a coyote and her eyes flash blue. I think that Malia turned into a coyote after the full moon. She came up to the school to get the doll that belonged to her sister. She had it by the car like flowers for her mother and sister, but I took it and so she followed me into school and broke into the library.”

“Are you saying that a coyote knocked over two bookcases and broke a window.”

“Just one window. The one in the door. The others were broken by the kanima.”

“What the hell is a kanima?” His dad is beginning to sound impatient.

“So you know these murders?” Stiles asks, “The mechanic, the guy in the woods, Mr Lahey, they’ve all been done by this creature. It’s like a lizard man, and it can paralyze you with its claws. It’s called a kanima, and that’s all I know. Scott didn’t tell me anything about it - I swear - otherwise I would have told you before. Anyway we chased it… well it chased us… out of the school and we followed it into town and it went into this club and…” On cue there is another scream and the sound of people trying to get out.

“Oh joy,” Stiles’ dad sighs over the phone, “I understood none of that, by the way, so you’re explaining this to me later. Just… for now just tell me where you are so I can get there before dispatch calls.”

“Jungle. It’s a club down south by Sycamore Street…”

“I know where it is…” there is the sound of the Sheriff moving towards his car, “Stiles, you know that’s a gay club, right? What the hell were you doing there?”

“Well, dad, that…” Stiles paces to the end of the alleyway, “That is a conversation we may need to have…”

“You’re not gay.”

“I could be!” Stiles snaps, “Bisexuality is a thing, you know!”

“Now that, I might believe.” His dad sounds like he’s laughing, “You can never make up your mind, can you?”

“I’m hanging up on you.” Stiles says, “It’s for your own safety. Don’t drink and talk. Don’t drive and talk. Whatever.” He hangs up just as his dad is saying ‘I love you’, and stares at the phone with a fond look in his eyes.

The screaming has stopped, so Stiles steps back towards the front of the club, preparing to duck inside and look for either the killer lizard or his friends when a light breeze blows a scent towards him.

He freezes, and for a moment he could have sworn Chris Argent looks right at him before Stiles is throwing himself sideways behind a parked car. The sound of police sirens suggests his dad is well on his way, but Stiles can still hear the hunters talking.

“Seven paralyzed. The rumour is drugs. Probably hallucinogens, since witnesses say they saw a demonic monster on the dance floor.”

And just Chris on his own would be fine, but Chris isn’t alone. Next to him Gerard glares around and Stiles presses himself back against the car, heart racing. He pulls out his phone and sends out a text to Allison. _‘Gerard and Chris outside. Don’t use front entrance.’_ Then he just prays that she gets it.

“I don’t understand how you just stood there and did nothing,” Chris is saying, “Can you explain to me why you didn’t even try to shoot it?”

“Your bullets did nothing, so why would mine make any difference?” Gerard’s laugh sends shivers down Stiles’ spine, and for a moment he’s back in that basement, with Kate leering at him, that note of insanity in her tone. “I had a suspicion and I went with it.”

“You know what it is,” Chris accuses, and of course Gerard knows what it is - the bestiary was his after all.

“Maybe,” Gerard is enigmatic with his own son, “It likes to play by certain rules and we can’t act until we know everything. So for now we’ll let Derek and his pack of outcasts run around chasing their tails as they search for this thing.”

“Are you suggesting we let them take each other out?” Chris frowns.

“This is the first time you’ve seen Derek since Kate died, right? So obviously this creature on his territory is enough to bring him out of hiding. Now what did I teach you is the best way to eliminate a threat?”

“Get someone else to do it for you.”

Stiles slides out from behind the car, slinking around and keeping low. Allison sent a reply, and he’s heading around to meet the others when he practically trips over the body.

It’s Jackson and Stiles freezes, because the guy looks dead. He’s just lying there slumped as if he had barely managed to get out of the club before shifting back. He’s also sans clothes, and Stiles wrinkles his nose, averting his eyes.

He smells blood.

He lets his claws slide out, stepping forwards, and shoving the teenager gently. Jackson doesn’t stir, but Stiles can see the wound in his side. Scott must have got him then, but it looks like it’s already healing. He reaches out again, poking the guy with one claws. The skin breaks and blood wells up red, but is sucked back into the skin almost instantly.

He needs to get Jackson out of the way, Stiles thinks, considering how he’s going to carry an unconscious jock around to Scott and the others, when said werewolf appears at the end of the parked cars. The other wolf is following a trail of black blood to where Jackson lies, looking dead.

“Stiles!” Scott’s eyes widen and he steps forwards, “Step away from him!”

Stiles freezes, trying to work out what’s wrong. He thinks about how the scene must look, he with his claws out leaning over a snoozing Jackson. He startles upright, eyes flashing blue defensively, “Oh my god!” he exclaims, putting his hands up in a surrendering motion, his claws sheathed, “Did you really think I was going to murder him? Just like that with Allison’s dad and grandfather around the corner?”

The look on Scott’s face says it all.

Stiles steps back again, actually kind of hurt that Scott is ready to think that of him. That’s when Lydia appears, running over. Allison hovers by Scott. “What happened?” he asks her, ignoring the way Scott is shooting him puppy-dog eyes.

“He paralyzed a load of people, including Danny.”

“Any dead?”

“No.”

“So what now?” Lydia looks up from where she’s confirmed that Jackson is still breathing, “What do we do with him?”

Stiles shrugs and then decides to suggest what they’re obviously thinking, “We should kill him.”

“We are not killing him.” Scott glares. “That’s what Derek wants to do, and if we wanted that then Erica and Isaac would still be hanging around.” He glances between Allison and Stiles as if he’s still trying to work out what they did with the pair.

“For god’s sake… FINE! What do you want to do with him then?” Stiles gestures at the dead weight lying there.

Scott glances between them then at Jackson decisively, “We need to take him somewhere where we can hold him long enough to figure out what to do with him. Or long enough to convince him he's dangerous.”

“And to stop Derek and his pack killing him,” Lydia reminds him, because - oh yeah - that’s important too.

“What about your lakehouse?” Scott asks Lydia as she stands up, and the four of them stand there, their knocked out sort of friend in the middle with them forming a circle around him.

She shakes her head, “No. Not again. My mom will ask questions and I don’t want her finding out.”

Allison glances at Scott, “What about your house?”

“Not with my mom there.”

“I can steal a police lock up van,” Stiles suggests, “One of those ones they use for transferring prisoners.”

“There are times you really scare me,” Allison jokes, but looks worried, “Do you have to steal it? Isn’t that illegal? Don’t answer that. Would your dad give us one if we asked?”

“Maybe. But if he got caught giving it to us it could cost him his job. Actually me stealing one would do that too, so…” Stiles looks thoughtful.

They all turn to look at Lydia.

She pulls a face, “ _Fine_. You can use my lakehouse.”

 

Jackson wakes up several hours later, chained up and handcuffed to one of the posts in Lydia’s boathouse which they had decided on because it was less likely someone would hear him from the road. Any sounds made would travel out over the lake instead.

Jackson is well and truly caged.

Naturally he’s not impressed

“MCCALL!! ARGENT! STILINSKI! I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”


	10. Identity

Jackson is locked in the boathouse in the thick chains that had been intended for Scott’s full moon. Stiles can hear that he’s woken up, the sharp change in breathing and the rattling of metal cuffs.

He neglects to mention it to the others as Allison tiredly brushes a strand of hair out of her face. She keeps glancing at her phone, as if expecting her mother to trace the phone and drag her home or something. She sees Stiles watching her and pockets it, determinedly looking towards Lydia, “I still don’t get it,” she says, “How is Jackson the kanima? He passed Derek’s test, didn’t he?”

Scott steps forwards from where he had been lurking, looking for food in the kitchen. He’s holding a bowl of cereal, but isn’t eating. Instead he looks mildly sick as he pushes the cornflakes around the bowl of milk. “No,” he shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s like an either - or - thing,” Stiles suggests, splaying one palm out and tilting it this way and that. He’s aware of their gazes swivelling to him, but doesn’t quell from it. “I mean, a snake can’t be poisoned by its own venom, right? So the kanima can’t be poisoned by its own venom… but when is the kanima not the kanima?”

“When it’s Jackson,” Lydia stands so close to him that Stiles can feel the heat radiating off her. She doesn’t seem uneasy or nervous being around him, and Stiles wonders if they can finally move past that now everything is out in the open. The red head sighs, “What are we going to do with him? We can’t keep him locked up forever!”

They’re deferring all their decisions to Scott and Stiles’ friend looks stricken and worried. Stiles angles his body to Lydia, “We do everything as normal.” He says, “Otherwise the hunters will pick up on the fact Jackson isn’t in. They’re still looking for him, right?” he glances at Allison.

She nods.

“Someone should keep an eye on him,” Lydia interjects.

Stiles shrugs, “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Uh, no.” Lydia casts him a sideways glance, “I’ll stay,” she volunteers, “I’m acing all my classes. I can afford to miss one day of school.”

Stiles frowns, slightly wary about the person watching Jackson being the only one without any way of defending herself. “You sure you don’t need one of us to stay with you?” he offers, “My grades are fine.”

“But your recent attendance isn’t when you’ve been making friends with coyotes.” Lydia says, her tone snarky and leaving no room for argument.

“Yeah, what is up with that?” Scott latches onto that topic and Stiles frowns, because he still hasn’t worked out how he can prove to his friends about Malia when he barely believes it himself.

“I’ll tell you later,” he chooses the easy option, “It’s complicated.” He adds on when Scott looks wary. His friend has the expression that promises there will be a later.

“Good,” Lydia says, smiling, “That’s settled. Now you three better hurry or you’re going to be late for school.”

She looks stupidly smug.

 

The others rush off, Allison squashing herself into the back of Stiles’ jeep while Scott rides shotgun. Lydia watches them go, then walks back inside, feeling eerily calm as she heads through the door to the boathouse.

Jackson is awake when she enters and she avoids looking at him as she throws the sandwiches in her hand towards him. “Stiles got you food,” she says, dispassionately, “You have an option of turkey club or ham and cheese.”

“What are you doing? Why am I locked up here like McCall on a full moon?” Jackson ignores the offer of food and yanks at his chains, trying to move closer to where she stands, staring down at him.

“Correction,” Lydia sniffs, “Scott got locked up in the basement. This? Is the boathouse.”

“Oh that makes it so much better.” He sneers, looking like he wants to throttle her with the chains.

“We’re actually doing you a favour.” Lydia points out, “Oh and be thankful I dressed you and not Stiles. He might have let his claws slip.” Jackson looks slightly cowed but still pissed off.

“What am I doing here?” he demands, trying to control his temper.

Lydia debates it for a moment, but Jackson seems to have no understanding of why he’s there. He doesn’t even know he’s the kanima, she realises. He has no clue. So she tells him. “You’ve been turning into a giant lizard to kill people.”

He stares at her for a moment, wondering if it’s a joke, “I don’t believe you.”

“Tough.” She shrugs, crossing her arms, regretting that almost instantly because it’s a defensive position. “You have scales and everything,” she adds.

“Scales?”

“Reptilian scales. Yellow eyes. Your claws have a paralytic venom dripping off them and you have a tail.”

“A tail?” for a moment Jackson seems to be pondering this, “Does it do anything?”

“Tails are usually present for balance and extended manoeuvrability.” Lydia answers, “But if you’re asking if it does anything cool like strangle people then no.”

Jackson’s face is still staring at her in disbelief, “I.” he emphasises, “Am NOT a giant lizard.”

“Actually you are.” Lydia shrugs, “After the coyote broke into the library what did you do?”

He frowns, shaking his head. She’s expecting him to hesitate, to claim he doesn’t remember. Instead: “We escaped. We got out. I went home.” His tone doesn’t waver and Lydia wishes she could hear his heartbeat.

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_!”

Lydia stares at him, and under her gaze he looks a bit daunted, “Well I think you turned into a giant lizard and ran off into town where you promptly went for Danny and paralyzed him and half a dozen other people.”

“Why would I go after Danny?” Jackson hisses, “He’s my best friend.”

“I don’t know,” Lydia shrugs, “But I’m going to find out. I have nine pages of archaic Latin to translate that might provide the answer to why you’re killing people. Because it wasn’t just last night. There was one of Argent’s hunters in the woods. There was a mechanic in a garage. Oh and then you chased me around the school pool after paralyzing Derek and Erica.”

Jackson shakes his head, face dark, “You’re crazy,” he snaps, “Are you trying to get back at me for dumping you or something? Because this? This is crazy!”

She smiles thinly, because the reminder that Jackson doesn’t love her anymore stings all the time. “You think I want to be doing this?” she asks him. His expression says it all, “Look, I don’t like this anymore than you do. But we have to do something. People are dying!”

Jackson tugs at his chains again and Lydia steps backwards, flinching slightly, “Oh yeah?” he snarls, “Well before you start pointing fingers at me, why don’t you look at your murderous little boyfriend?”

“I’m not dating Stiles,” she snaps.

“No?” Jackson angles his head, “Because it looked that way at the formal when you were glued to each other’s lips!”

Lydia’s laugh is bitter and full of impatience. She had no idea Jackson could be so petty as being jealous, but then this is Jackson. Of course he would be jealous, “You have no right to be jealous.” She snaps, even though he has every right and one of her reasons for even going to the formal with Stiles had been with the express purpose of making him jealous. “You. Dumped _me_. And anyway. I’ve moved on.”

“You’re lying.”                                          

Her smiles flickers, “No, I’m not.” She says, but Jackson has this determined look on his face as if he can hear her heartbeat.

“Yes.” He leers, “You are. Because if you didn’t love me, you’d have given me back the key to my house by now.”

Lydia shrugs, trying to pretend as if Jackson isn’t right, as if the key isn’t still pressed to her chest from where she wears it around her neck. “So what if I do?” she asks him, trying to shrug it off, “It’s not getting you out of here. This? This is for your own good.” And with that she turns and makes for the exit.

“Wait!” Jackson shouts after her, “Wait! Don’t! My parents will be looking for me! They’ll know I’m missing.”

“Except… oh yeah…” Lydia stands framed in the doorway, waving Jackson’s phone around, “Maybe not,” she pulls a face, “Staying at a friend’s house. Be home tomorrow.” She quotes the text she sent them, “I even missed off an ‘I love you’.” she purses her lips, “I guess I do know you too well,” she says airily, and then turns, leaving a frustrated Jackson chained to the post of her boathouse.

 

Stiles drops Allison off at her house so she can sneak into her own room, grab her bag and sneak out again, just as silently. She drives her own car to the school and parks, well-aware that she’s going to be missing first period. She hopes she can make the last half-hour at least, but when she steps into the school only to be confronted with her grandfather she knows that’s not going to happen.

“Allison,” his face lights up in a smile, but it’s brittle and cold, “I was hoping I could talk to you.”

“Now?” she asks, looking around, but class is on and there is nobody around.

“My office is just here,” he gestures, “It won’t take a moment.”

She has no choice but to follow him, to let the door swing shut and to take a seat opposite him, feeling like she’s done something wrong. Does Gerard know? Does he know about the two omega wolves and her link to them? Does he know about Jackson or Lydia or…

“God,” Gerard pulls a face as he swallows a handful of pills with a glass of water in one hand, “When I was your age,” he starts the conversation, “I didn’t even take vitamins.” He laughs, and eyes the pill bottle Allison always seems to be seeing him with and then pockets it, “Now I’m choking down a cocktail of pills three times a day. But, I do what my doctor tells me, because I trust him. Trust is a commodity our family holds very high, you know? And my daughter, well, your aunt Kate died doing what she thought was right. Her intentions may have been a bit misguided-“

“A bit?” Allison can’t help but interrupt him, “Kate killed people. She murdered an entire family…” she stops, in case she blurts something out she’ll regret.

“You’re a lot like her, you know?” her grandfather tilts his head to the side.

“I don’t want to be like her,” Allison bites her lip, “She killed people. Murdered. And she thought she was doing the right thing!”

“But she was strong,” Gerard chooses just the right words, Allison notices, and only a month ago she would have given anything to be strong.

But she is. She can take on a beta werewolf with nothing more than a pair of poisoned knives. She and Lydia together took out Peter Hale with a Molotov cocktail and an arrow.

“Kate challenged me too,” Gerard laughs, “I like that you’re challenging me. It’s good not to follow in the footsteps of your predecessors, but to strike out on your own. Just don’t forget to take your family’s values with you along the way, but make them your own.”

She’s done that. She’s taken her family’s code and made it her own. She hasn’t told anyone, but that doesn’t matter. It’s her code and she’s the only one who needs to follow it.

_Nous protegeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger leurs-même._

“Do you trust me, Allison?”

She doesn’t know how to answer that honestly. She pauses, and stares at him, playing the wide-eyed little girl act. “I don’t know you,” she says, and that’s the most honest thing she can say.

“We’re family,” Gerard sighs, “I hope there comes a time when you can trust me. Because I will always be there for you, even when your friends aren’t. Because the one trust you never question is family. And I know a teenager’s first instinct is to protect their friends, but I’m hoping Allison, that for the sake of family, you might help out an old man here.”

She stares at him, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.

“Jackson Whittemore and Lydia Martin didn’t show up to school this morning.” Gerard says, “After the attack in the library yesterday they never spoke to the police. Do you know where they are?”

“No.” Allison shakes her head, “Did you ask Stiles?” she suggests, “He was there as well…” she stops, because Gerard is standing.

“I’m going to ask again,” he says, “But this time I want to monitor your pulse,” and he moves until she can’t see him, he’s standing right behind her. Two warm fingers press to her neck. “Do you know where Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore are?”

Allison takes a deep breath. Think like Stiles, is the only thing running through her head.

She knows where they are, but not precisely. She has no idea of co-ordinates, or whether Lydia is sitting on the sofa, in the boat house with Jackson, or even moved him to the basement. “No,” she says, “I haven’t seen Jackson since yesterday.” True. She’d last seen him unconscious last night. “And Lydia I saw at school yesterday.” True. She had seen Lydia at school and she had seen her friend after as well.

But her pulse stays steady and Gerard pulls away, looking torn between disappointed and proud. “I’m sorry for using those sorts of tactics on you,” his smile is apologetic, “Have you ever heard of the phrase “know thy enemy”? I just… I like to try and apply it to life.”

“It’s from the ‘Art of War’,” Allison says, slowly, and she grabs her bag even though she hasn’t been dismissed. The bell is thankfully about to ring, “Sun Tzu.” She adds, “It means you have to know everything about your enemy.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re not talking about my friends anymore, are you?” she asks.

He shakes his head, “There is another enemy out there, far more skilled than any hunter and more dangerous than any werewolf. I just hope that if you know anything, or find anything out, then you’ll trust me enough to share your information with me.”

She steps back towards the door, “If I find anything out of importance,” she says, “I’ll be sure to tell you.”

It’s another evasive lie. Allison might find out plenty of information about wolves and lizards and her friends, but was any of it important enough to warrant telling Gerard?

Allison would keep her friend’s secrets.

 

“McCall!” Coach calls as Scott makes to follow after Stiles, “Stay for a moment.” Scott lingers in the doorway, and Coach gestures violently towards his desk. Reluctantly Scott goes, casting one last look after where Allison and Stiles have met and vanished along the corridor.

“Yes, Coach?” he asks.

“Look at this.” Coach throws something down on his desk, “This is a disgrace. As Team Captain you have responsibilities…”

“Co-captain,” Scott corrects, “Uh… these aren’t mine.”

“No,” Finstock stares at him, “But you’re captain. _Co-captain_. Making sure everybody keeps their equipment in top notch condition is your responsibility.”

Scott is too busy picking up the lacrosse gloves, eyeing the torn fingers where claws have probably sliced through them. “These are Danny’s,” he finds the label.

“Well that’s great,” Coach’s voice drips with sarcasms, “Now tell Danny to look after his own equipment, otherwise I’m gonna’ make you take care of his equipment for him. Now, do you really want to be taking care of Danny's equipment all the time?”

Scott looks up, his face a careful blank. “That depends. Are we still talking about lacrosse pads?”

Coach stares, “Dismissed,” he says curtly, “And give me those,” he snatches the lacrosse gear out of Scott’s hand. Scott stumbles back, smirking slightly, and Coach glares at him, “Get out of here!”

“Going,” Scott grabs his bag and legs it, but the smile slips of his face. Because those are Danny’s pads from the game the other night but Danny…

Danny had been playing in goal.

He swallows down the knowledge that it had been Jackson, Jackson at the pool, at the house, at the garage, Jackson killing those people.

Jackson who had gone after Danny.

Scott needs to talk to Danny.

 

Allison doesn’t get a chance to talk to Scott after his economics class. It’s their last class of a day and she got out of French early, so she lingers outside the classroom. Scott doesn’t make it out though, so Stiles meets up with her. “Coach is talking to him,” he says, and his eyes flicker up, then he angles himself. Allison takes a moment trying to work out why he’s keeping his head down, when she remembers the cameras.

“I can’t believe they’ve installed cameras,” she sighs, “It’s extreme.”

“Do you think Gerard knows?” Stiles asks.

Allison shrugs, “He quizzed me earlier. I think he knows I know something, but not what.” She glances up as they pass a camera. “Your eyes would flare, wouldn’t they?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles nods, “And Isaac’s. And Erica’s. And Boyd’s.”

“I’ve got a text from Lydia,” Allison says, “She’s found something in the bestiary so we’re meeting up.”

Stiles curses, glancing over his shoulder, “Scott’s going to the hospital,” he says. “He’ll meet us there.”

Allison peers down the corridor, but Scott isn’t there, “You can hear him from here?” she asks, still leaning over. Stiles is nodding, and they’ve stopped by his locker so he can pull out his headphones.

“Won’t your mom and dad murder me for being seen with you?” Stiles asks.

“Well it’s not like Lydia is around as an alternative,” Allison shrugs, “And my dad’s been a bit more lenient.” Stiles raises one eyebrow, and she elaborates, “He wants to train me.” She says, “I agreed, but I told him he can’t tell me who I can or can’t hang out with at school.”

Stiles shrugs one shoulder “Seems fair enough.”

“My mom doesn’t know,” Allison adds.

“Even more reason to do it.” Stiles says, “Every teenager needs a rebellious phase, right?”

 

The translated bestiary sits in front of her. She’d started on some of the other entries as well, because she might as well have a fully translated copy in case they ever needed it. She had wandered down to talk to Jackson, and then left when he got annoyed at her. Now she wanders outside, to see if Stiles or Allison or Scott have arrived yet.

School had only just got out, she thinks with a sigh, seeing the time on her phone. She prepares herself to wait, when a shape moves down the driveway.

It’s the boy from the woods. He’s strolling forwards, his hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched. He glances up and a smile spreads across his face as he sees her.

“What are you doing here?” Lydia slowly lowers her phone.

“I came to see you.” the boy frowns, “You weren’t in school.” He elaborates, “I was worried.”

He takes a step towards her and then stops, blinking with a hurt expression on his face. “I…” he falters, “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Step backwards.” He takes another step towards her and she moves away. “I just wanted to bring you something. I thought you might like it.”

“Is there any explanation that sounds less creepy-ish and stalker-ish?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well I heard about your bite.” He gestures at the bandage where it peeks out from under her cardigan sleeve.

“I’m fine. What did you bring me?”

“Here?” he holds out a flower. Lydia takes it, spinning it between her fingers.

“Wait a second. I never told you it was a bite.” Lydia glances up sharply, flower still clutched in her fingers, “And… what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” the guy smiles, blue eyes sparkling.

“So?” she presses, nervous for some reason, “What is it?”

He leans closer and she doesn’t move. For a moment she thinks he’s going to kiss her, but instead he brushes past, his lips hovering near her ear. He whispers just one word.

Just one.

“Peter.”

 

This time Allison doesn’t have to squeeze into the back of Stiles’ jeep. The back is relatively spacious to sit in, but squeezing over the seats is an issue. Scott’s not there though, so she rides shotgun.

“Has Scott texted you?” she asks Stiles, nervously.

“No,” he shakes his head, “He still can’t text you, huh?”

“No,” Allison shakes her head, “My mom is checking all my phone calls in and out. All my texts. Probably even my internet history, but luckily I delete that,” she laughs weakly. “It makes meeting up with Scott outside of school really difficult,” she admits to him, “We’ve been leaving messages on car windows.”

“You and Scott.” Stiles sounds almost bitter, “You two are still going huh?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out.

“I don’t get…” Stiles stops and for a moment he is concentrating on driving.

“Don’t get what?” she pushes.

“I don’t get how he… how you and he can go back to normal. But our friendship… he let you crawl back to him, but me? I can’t. He doesn’t want to know me anymore.”

“Maybe that’s because _I_ didn’t _kill_ anybody.” She realises her tone is too harsh and relents, “Maybe it’s because you’ve known him for so long. He expected more from you.”

“Scott has so much faith in me, and I’m just…. I’m just not built like that. I can never be like Scott. The most I can do is make sure no one breaks me.”

“So you built up all these walls to keep people out. Went out doing your own thing… but it didn’t work, did it?” Stiles isn’t looking at her but whether it’s from stubbornness or just great driving safety she isn’t sure. “Look, do you… you told me once you had a crush on Lydia, right? Do you remember what that felt like? Do you remember all those times you saw her standing down the hall and just couldn’t breathe? Or those times when she smiled at you and it felt like your heart just stopped?”

Stiles’ lips twist, “No,” he shakes his head, “Lydia doesn’t look at me like that anymore. And I… I can’t think of her like that without remembering how she looked beautiful even when Peter sank his fangs into her wrist.”

And yeah, Allison can’t really think of anything to make that better. “Scott hasn’t left you behind,” she says, “I mean… I know he spent so long enraptured over me, at least it felt that way and that was amazing because I’ve never had anybody like that before but… when it wasn’t me and him, it was him and you. You get that, right?”

“I’m not jealous,” Stiles says, but his voice is strained, “I was happy for him. Even… even when you turned out to be from a hunting family you just… I’ve never seen him so happy. So in love.”

Allison feels her heart do this strange little flutter, “I love him too,” she whispers.

“I know,” Stiles smiles, glancing briefly at her before looking back to the road, “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. He… Scott deserves it.” The jeep turns onto the road heading towards the lake house.

“Yeah,” Allison hums, “Just remember… Stiles… that you deserve to be happy too.”

He makes a noise, and it’s impossible to tell what he means, but she thinks he disagrees.


	11. Intangible

“Are you sure everything is okay between you and Jackson?” Scott hovers as Danny pulls his shirt on; finally being deemed fit to leave the hospital after last night’s incident with a hallucinogenic and some sort of paralytic agent.

The doctors and police are baffled as to what happened, except perhaps the Sheriff.

“Yeah,” Danny is frowning as he pulls on a shirt. “Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Scott frowns, “Because he ruined your lacrosse pads.”

Danny stares at him.

“Yeah,” Scott elaborates then, “Coach found them under the bleachers ripped into little shreds.”

“Then somebody owes me a new set,” Danny sighs, “Did the cops have to take my fake ID?” the other boy mumbles as he rifles through his wallet.

“So Jackson doesn’t want to hurt you violently. Potentially lethally? On a scale of one to ten how annoyed is he with you?”

“He’s permanently on a four,” Danny stops to consider Scott’s questions, “But that’s just Jackson. Seriously, why so curious? Jackson and I are fine. I was actually doing him a favour.”

Scott’s head snaps up, “What favour?” he asks.

“I was recovering a video for him,” Danny waves a hand around, “It’s on my tablet… which in in the trunk of my car and probably still at the club.” He sighs, looking frustrated.

Scott is too busy thinking. That’s the video everyone had mentioned, the not-a-sex-tape video. If he had that video he’d be able to prove what happened to Jackson on the night of the full moon.

That’s why the kanima had gone after Danny. Whether to silence him or something equally as sinister, Scott isn’t sure, but there is motive there to keep everything hidden.

“Are you okay?” Danny is staring at Scott, “You… didn’t come to visit me, did you?”

“Of course!” Scott blusters, “I had to check you were okay. I just… I need to go check something… really quickly…”

Danny just shrugs, “Sure, dude. Nice of you to pop by.”

“Yeah, yeah… and hey!?”

Danny looks up.

“I’ll see what I can do about persuading Stiles to steal your fake ID back.”

The other teenager’s smile is grateful, “Thanks. And also… I’m glad you two are talking to each other again.”

Scott slips out of the room and feels his smile fade. Yeah, they were talking again. Or something like that. He heads towards the entrance, head down and planning his route to the lake house. He should stop by the club, see if he can pick up the tablet with the video on it…

“Scott,” his mom appears right in front of him. “We need to talk.”

He freezes, because that sounds like nothing good.

“While visiting your friend is commendable, I really need to play tough mom, even though I’m not very good at it?”

Scott’s feet are itching to get moving. Stiles, Allison and Lydia will be waiting for him. “Now?” he asks, looking around.

“Yes,” Melissa nods slowly, “Right now. I just got a call from your principal. You are failing two classes!?” her voice is both shocked and disappointed. “Do you know if you fail even one of your midterms they’re going to hold you back? All your friends are going to be juniors while you are still a sophomore!”

Scott’s heart thumps, because that’s true. Lydia and Stiles are passing all classes with some sort of vengeance which suggests that in a year or two they’ll be getting into heated arguments about who gets to be valedictorian. Allison has already been held back a year, and now she’s not moving around she’s finding the work easy.

Scott isn’t. He’s never found school easy. If he put the time and effort into studying he knows he’d get there, but right now with werewolves and kanimas he just doesn’t have the time.

He sighs, “I’m trying,” Scott says, “That’s why I’m studying with Stiles right now.” He tries to appear bright.

Melissa doesn’t look fooled, “The Sheriff says you and Stiles got into a fight. Is this… is this about Allison?”

Scott winces, “No, mom…” he shakes his head.

“Really?” Melissa frowns, “You’re still seeing her, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Scott.” She pulls a face, “I found the box in your room.”

Scott thinks he may either stop breathing or die from embarrassment right there.

His mother just sighs, “I understand.” She says, shoulders lumping slightly, “You’re young. You’re in love. I was like you once too, I know it’s hard to believe.” She crosses her arms, looking at him almost fondly, “But you need to prioritise. College. Studies. A _job_.”

“I have a job.”

“At the animal clinic!” Melissa says, “I barely see you anymore! What do you do when you’re not working? You’re not spending time with Stiles, I know that. Are you spending time with Allison?”

“Allison and Stiles.” Scott says, and his mother’s face twists, “Not like that!” he blusters, “Not… no…” he takes a deep breath, “Lydia is there as well,” he adds, “In fact I’m meeting up with them now and we’re all studying. Together.”

Melissa looks only marginally comforted by that. “Are you going to be home late tonight as well?” she sighs, “And I hope you’re studying for that chemistry test I had to beg Mr. Harris to let you make up.”

“I missed a chemistry test?” Scott wracks his brain, trying to remember when that was.

“Really, Scott?” Melissa sighs, “I’m going to have to establish some rules. I’m not going to stop you seeing your friends, but you are grounded. I want you home before nine.”

“Nine? But what about work?”

“Fine - other than work. And no TV.”

“My TV’s broken.”

“Then no computer.”

“I need the computer for school.”

His mother sighs, “Then no Stiles.”

He opens his mouth to remind her that he and Stiles aren’t on the best of terms but she must notice his distress.

“Oh sweetie,” she sighs, grabbing one of his hands, “Are you okay? Is there something going on that you think you can’t tell me? I mean… you and Stiles were so close and now I barely even see him. He hasn’t broken into my house in over a month, and that baseball bat isn’t getting any use in.” She laughs weakly.

Scott offers a weak grin, “There’s just a lot of… stuff… going on…” he says weakly. “Do you really want to know?”

“I do,” she says, “But not now. Now… you go and study. I’ll talk with you later.” She pats him on the shoulder. “I love you.” she says, and even though Scott doesn’t need her to say it, it’s nice to know.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping past her and pausing to wrap one arm around her in a hug, “I love you too. And things will get better. I promise.”

 

Lydia’s text was sent an hour ago. And they’ve all responded. Eventually. Stiles and Allison pulled up a good forty-five minutes before Scott finally cycled his way there.

Jackson is still chained in the boat house.

Lydia spreads everything on the table, the paper scattered out for them to see. She looks grim as Allison sits beside her and Scott opposite them. Stiles stands, arms crossed and looking wary.

“Kanima…” Lydia reads out from her notes, “…like the wolf, its power is greatest at the moon’s peak. It is a social creature, but while a wolf seeks a pack, the kanima will seek a master.” She stops, and she’s looking nervous. Stiles frowns, concerned for her, but she steadies her hands and glances around, waiting for input.

Scott is frowning, “A master?” he asks, “What does that mean?”

“It means there’s someone else,” Stiles is the first to say it. Nobody else is going to after all, “The kanima. And its master. It means it… it’s working for someone.” He feels mildly sick at that thought.

“Someone’s controlling him,” Allison summarises. “Jackson doesn’t even know what he’s doing. He has no idea.”

“He’s like a puppet,” Stiles whispers. “He doesn’t even remember. He must go into this… fugue state and just forget everything… the murder, the blood…”

Scott gapes for a moment, “Danny’s tablet was missing,” he blurts out, “Danny had just gotten the video sorted for Jackson of the night of the full moon. Something must have happened that night, but someone deleted the video. But when Danny managed to retrieve it, they needed to get rid of the evidence again.”

“So they got Danny out of the way while they stole the tablet,” Allison breathes, ducking her head to grab the translated page, “Online it said the kanima only goes after murderers.”

“That can’t be true.” Lydia frowns, “It went after me at the pool. And as far as I know I haven’t killed anybody lately.” She glances at Stiles and he shifts, because it hadn’t gone after him. Not even when he had appeared in front of it to snatch a coyote away from it, the creature had let him go.

Allison is still skipping through the text. She begins reading. “A weapon of vengeance, it is used to carry out the bidding of its master.” She quotes, “The kanima was once used by a South American priest who took it upon himself to rid his village of all murderers. The bond between master and servant grew stronger until the will of the master became that of the kanima's and whomever the priest deemed unworthy, the kanima served his vengeance.” She frowns, looking up, “So someone is killing people out of revenge and getting Jackson to do it.”

“So what do we do?”

“We need to find the master.” Lydia shrugs, “Stop them killing people.”

“Or…” Allison taps the paper, “The kanima is a mutation of a werewolf bite, right? It cannot transform fully…” she reads, “Until it resolves that in its past which manifest it.” She looks up, “So our other option is if we help Jackson transform fully.”

“Kill Jackson,” Stiles shrugs, “Problem solved.”

Scott shoots him this look that is almost disappointed, “We are not killing him. He risked his life for us. Against Peter, you remember that?”

“Yeah, actually,” Stiles narrows his eyes and looks away, not meeting Scott’s gaze, “He got the bite from Derek. It’s funny how he just got exactly what he wanted by supposedly risking his life for us,” he sneers, “And now we have to save him again so he can be a werewolf! And what do you think he’s going to do afterwards? Run off and play lacrosse and lord it over us.” His words are bitter.

“That’s just because Jackson is an ass,” Lydia snaps, “I think we can save him.” She stares at Stiles and that - that makes him back down with a short nod.

“How?” he points out, quietly, “What issue is there in his past we need to resolve?”

Lydia looks grim, “He’s adopted.”

“We know that.” Stiles sighs, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Yeah, but what you don’t know is that his birth parents are dead.” Lydia sighs, “They’re buried half a mile away in Beacon Hills cemetery.”

Allison frowns, “From what Jackson told me, I’d always assumed they’d abandoned him.” She taps her fingers against her bag, considering everything, “What happened? Do you know?”

Lydia nods, glancing around, “It was a car accident. His parents were dead on arrival. 9:26PM on June 14th. Jackson was born the day after, June 15th, by C-Section.” Allison winces, “Yeah,” Lydia hums, “Still wonder why he’s got issues?”

“So he needs a shit-load of therapy,” Stiles interjects, “We knew that already! But plenty of people are adopted and they don’t turn into homicidal lizards.”

“They don’t get bitten by werewolves either,” Scott points out, sighing. “How are we meant to help Jackson resolve that? We… we’re just a bunch of teenagers. We can’t handle this. I… I told my mom I was studying with you guys. I’m failing two classes. I can’t work out how to fix Jackson and fix my own life as well!”

“And we still need to work out who the master is,” Stiles points out, “Who is controlling him…” he frowns, “Someone who wanted Lahey and those other guys dead.”

“No but wait…” Lydia is frowning, “If Jackson turned the night of the full moon then… then did he turn the night before as well? He killed Isaac’s father, didn’t he?”

“Yeah…” Scott is about to reply, when there is a clattering from the door. The four of them look up, and for some reason Lydia flinches just a little bit more than she should. “Is Jackson still locked up?” Scott asks, warily.

“He was when I checked up on him before you guys showed up,” Lydia whispers. “Can you smell anything…?”

“Yeah,” Stiles is already standing, making his way towards the front door where the sound came from. “Yeah… I’ve got to…”

“Stiles - don’t!” Lydia stands and moves after him.

“What is it?” Allison asks, “What can you smell?”

Scott is standing too, but Stiles isn’t planning to stick around.

“What can you smell?” Allison asks again.

“Coyote.”

 

The door is open when Stiles gets there, and he pauses for a moment, framed in it and staring outside. It’s dark out, and in the distance he can see the lithe shape he knows to be Malia.

She’s standing there, watching him. When she sees him there, she lets out a bark and then turns tail and runs. She only moves a few feet before stopping and turning again.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate. Pausing only to tell the others, “I’ll be right back,” he throws himself out into the night.

He can hear Scott’s frantic protests and Lydia’s confusion, but he ignores that, moving off after the coyote. Upon seeing him following her the creature lifts her head up and skips around happily before darting off. It’s like she’s playing a game as she races away before he can catch up.

Stiles vanishes after her, because he can’t let her get away again.

 

“Are we going after him?” Allison asks.

“Of course,” Scott says, “You can stay here if you want but this is the second time he’s found that coyote.”

“Or that the coyote has found us,” Lydia sniffs, “I’m coming.”

“Count me in,” Allison says, and closes the door behind them. The night has closed in, and she can’t see Stiles anymore. Scott is going to have to lead, tracking his friend by scent. “Is this the same coyote as the one that was at the school?” she asks Lydia as they head out into the dark forest.

Lydia shrugs, “Who knows?”

Allison has this brief reminder that Stiles had been searching for a girl the other night. Instead he had come back with a coyote.

They really need to get Stiles to explain himself.

“Have you seen the cameras at school?” she makes conversation as they pick their way slowly throughout the dry leaves and trees. “It’s bad enough my family monitor every camera in town, but now at school?”

Scott pulls a face, “Yeah,” he says. “They’re closing in. Not just the kanima, but Derek’s pack won’t be able to hide for much longer.”

“I’ll pass on anything I can,” Allison says, all too aware of what she’s promising. But she chose her side weeks ago, “Anything, I promise. Anything and everything.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Scott protests,” They’re your family. I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret.”

She grabs onto his arm, making his pause, “I can never regret you,” she says, meeting his gaze, “Okay? I never want to regret you, meeting you, finding out and helping with the werewolf things, none of it. I want to treasure it forever, so that when we’re at college we’ll look back and laugh and…”

His face is twisted and she stops, staring. “College?” he asks with a funny look on his face, “You want to go to college with me?”

She shrugs, suddenly glad it’s dark as she blushes, “Well if we get into the same place, then yeah of course. Otherwise we’ll be having Skype calls every other day and…” she smiles weakly.

“Well you better not get into too good a college,” Scott jokes, “My grades suck at the moment.”

“I’ll tutor you,” Allison promises, stepping forwards. Scott blinks at her, and the way he’s looking at her, as if she’s something precious makes her fall in love just that little bit more.

“Oh yeah?” he says, stammering slightly.

“I’m serious,” she says, “I want to be with you. You know that right?”

“I know,” Scott says and judging by the weight in his words, he does.

“Good,” she breathes, and then leans forwards the remaining distance to kiss him. It’s perfect, there under the dark night sky and she wishes they could just stay like that forever. But they need to find Stiles and his coyote, and they need to sort out Jackson. She pulls back, smiling at him softly.

He blinks, looking star struck. “We should… we should…”

She kisses him again, just to see his reaction. He laughs, “We should save that for another time,” he wraps an arm around her, “We need to find…” he stops, frowning suddenly.

“What is it?” Allison asks, content in Scott’s arms for a moment. But the expression on his face sends ice through her stomach.

“Where’s Lydia?”

 

Stiles has no idea where the coyote is heading as she lopes through the trees. Lydia’s lake house borders the very south of the preserve, and Stiles is more familiar with the north, with the Hale House and the tunnels beneath.

This area isn’t familiar, not at all, not at least until he rounds the corner and almost trips over the ravine to where there is a ruined car, lying below upside down. It’s the wreck. Her wreck, Stiles realises. He sees her shape through the trees, because this is her territory.

She isn’t stopping at the wreck. She circles anxiously and Stiles slows to a walk, stepping cautiously along the edge of the rocky ravine. In the distance the coyote’s ears twitch and she stops moving, letting him approach her.

“Malia?” he asks, “Are you okay?”

She makes no sign that she’s even understood him.

“I’m Stiles.” He says, and stops, about a metre away from her, “And I’m… I’m sorry I stole the doll. That was…” he runs a hand through his hair, “That was stupid of me. Thoughtless.”

Her head tilts, but there is no recognition in her eyes.

He might as well be talking to a wild animal.

So he acts like that. He slowly drops into a crouch and holds out one hand invitingly, “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises, “I just… you’ve been alone in the woods for a long time and… I want to help.”

The coyote snuffles and steps towards him, cautiously. A twig cracks and she flinches, backing away a few steps.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Stiles draws back his hand and slips into a cross-legged position, sighing. “I’m not like that.” He glances up, expecting his familiar hallucination to be there, but for once he’s allowed a moment of peace. There is a warm weight in his lap and he blinks down at where the coyote has pressed her nose to his legs, sniffing. “Hey,” he says, and she startled a little bit, but relaxes when he doesn’t move.

He has no idea if she can understand him, or even if there is much girl left in the coyote. There is a moment that Stiles even doubts that this is a shapeshifter and it’s not just a wild coyote he’s found, but then she glances up, her eyes flaring the same blue as his own as he knows it’s her.

He feels his own eyes burn in response. “Yeah,” Stiles admits, “I’m like you. Well… I’m more wolf than coyote… and who knows how that happened. You’re just special, I guess.”

The coyote clacks her jaws together, and she looks like she is actually considering eating him before she steps forwards, claws sliding on his jeans as slowly and determinedly she arranges herself in his lap.

Stiles has no idea how he ended up with a lapful of coyote, but she settles down, head resting on his knee. She whines slightly and Stiles has no idea what she’s trying to say.

He has no idea about a lot of things.

But for the moment he’s content to just sit there, occasionally talking, and trying to work out how the hell he is going to turn the coyote back into a girl.

 

“Hello?”

Her voice rings out across the empty house.

Lydia would say she had no idea how she got there, but that would be a lie. She knows why she’s there, she doesn’t quite remember how she went from trailing behind Scott and Allison and rolling her eyes at their soppy talk, to standing on the porch of the ruined Hale House, but she knows why she’s there.

So she calls out like an idiot, looking around. Her feet take her to the main room, where Peter Hale lies buried beneath the floorboards. She stops in the doorway, and she doesn’t have to turn to know he’s standing right behind her.

“What do you want?” her voice sounds hollow, and quiet. There is a feeling in her gut and she wants to scream, want everything to just stop. She wants to listen, to hear what he has to say.

She has to know.

In front of her the floorboards crack and a hand shoots out, and then speeds forwards, until there is soil scattering and a body, tugging itself up. She catches a glimpse of earth-matted hair and wild eyes and then she blinks and the whole thing is gone.

The floor remains pristine in front of her.

Peter’s voice is young, lilting and charming. “To talk. Lydia, I don’t mean you any harm.” He steps around so she can see him, and then moves until he’s standing almost directly over the spot where he’s buried, “I know this must be confusing, but rest assured you’re not crazy.”

“You’re dead,” she says, “So why the hell can I see you?”

He grins weakly, “You’re my backup plan,” he spreads his hands out, and Lydia thinks the younger version of Peter is just as charming as the older version, “It’s always good to have a backup and that’s you. Because Lydia…. You… are… immune.”

“I know that already,” she feels the bite mark tingle on her wrist, “But what do you want from me?”

Peter holds out a purple flower, the same kind that grow along the walls of the house. Wolfsbane, Lydia realises, stupidly. The whole house is covered in it, and there is a certain irony that a house that used to house wolfsbane now is home to the plant that can kill them.

“I need you to do this one small favour for me,” he says. “And then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Why should I do anything for you?” she whispers, stepping forwards until she could easily reach out and pluck the flower from his finger-tips.

“Why else?” Peter smiles, and its confident as if he knows exactly what she’s going to say, exactly what she’s going to do, and he knows he has her already. His head tilts to one side. “Self-gain.”

Lydia meets his blue gaze for a moment, and then before she can regret her decision she reaches out and takes the flower.

 

“There you are,” Scott, after failing to find either Stiles or Lydia, returned to the lake house and sent out texts asking for everyone to group together. Allison had vanished off to check Jackson hasn’t starved, and Scott waits outside, shivering slightly from the cold. Lydia is the first to appear, looking none the worse for wear, “Where were you?”

Lydia shrugs, “Where else? Looking for… ah… here he is.” She turns just in time for Stiles to emerge, and the teenager is looking bemused, holding a coyote to his chest.

Scott pulls a face, “Why do you have a coyote?”

“Is that the same coyote?” Lydia narrows her eyes.

“Her name is Malia.” Stiles corrects and said coyote blinks at them, pressing back into Stiles slightly.

“Did you name her?” Lydia sounds really unimpressed, and her tone demands an explanation, “Stiles, you can’t just make a pet out of a wild coyote.”

“No… she’s… she’s a shifter. Like us.” Stiles tries to explain, glancing frantically between them, “She’s a werecoyote and she shifted on the full moon and got stuck when she was a kid and…”

“She’s a what.” Lydia deadpans.

“A werecoyote?” Scott repeats, because seriously - what the hell - werecoyotes are a thing now too? He stares at the coyote but for all means it looks like a normal coyote.

There is a clatter as Allison appears from the boat house, wide-eyed and frantic. She barely takes note of the coyote or Lydia, but blurts out, “Uh… guys. Bad news. Jackson? He’s gone.”


	12. Stability

They act as if nothing has happened.

It’s almost worse, Allison thinks, walking around school, trying to pretend everything is normal. She keeps her head down, not looking up at the cameras they installed literally everywhere. None of the wolves are at school, which Allison thinks is the only good thing. No eyes to flare on camera.

Monday was spent keeping an eye on Derek’s betas and ended with them chasing the kanima into town. Tuesday was spent with a kidnapped Jackson at the lake house and it’s only Wednesday, but it feels like the week’s been going on forever.

Allison hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in three days. The few hours she had caught that morning didn’t really count, not when she had to wake up extra early to sneak back into her own house before her mother caught her missing. Stiles looks like he’s on drugs, with dark shadows under his eyes, while Scott just looks stressed, hair in a disarray. Lydia is the only one who looks normal, thick make-up and a smile hiding any tiredness the strawberry beauty feels.

She and Lydia are the only ones in school. Stiles and Scott have stopped by the dirty abandoned subway car or den as Allison is pretty sure Derek is calling it. With them they have the coyote who is actually a girl, at least according to Stiles.

“Hey,” someone lingers next to her and it takes her longer than it should to realise the guy is speaking to her. Matt, she realises, smiling at him.

“Hey,” she says, trying to make her voice warm. Instead it comes out sounding distant and vague.

“You okay?” Matt asks, gesturing at her, and looking concerned.

“Yeah…” she nods, “I… no… yeah, I’m fine.” She laughs weakly, “Just fine… I…” she shakes her head, “No, everything is great,” she lies, looking at the guy who looks bemused, but nods with her.

“Great,” he says, “Because I was wondering if you’ve heard about the underground show? Apparently they’ve got some big name spinning.”

“Oh, you mean like a rave?” Allison asks, trying to think that of the two parties she’s been to, the one ended up with her being driven home by a stranger (werewolf, she would later find out) and the second one ended up with her in the woods, shooting arrows at both friends and enemies.

“If you want to call it a rave,” he laughs, “Party, I call it.” He’s nervous, speaking quickly, “I’ve got a friend who can hook me up with tickets if you wanted to go along. You game?”

Allison is distracted at that moment by the appearance of Lydia at the end of the corridor, her friend gesturing to her. “I… sure… yeah… look, I’ve got to go… but I’ll see you around, right?”

“Yeah? Cool,” he’s grinning at her, “It’s Friday, so… looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, great!” she slips past him, towards where Lydia is rolling her eyes. “What?” she says when she gets within hearing distance of her friend. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

“That guy is totally enamoured with you.” she says, clicking her tongue, “It’s a pity he just doesn’t know when to back off.”

“Who? Matt?” Allison laughs, glancing over her shoulder. The photographer is still standing where she left him, and he catches her gaze. She smiles and waves, then turns away, feeling slightly embarrassed. “He’s just being friendly,” Allison shrugs.

“And he’s still staring,” Lydia gazes over her friend’s shoulder.

“Shut up,” Allison steps around the corner, and Lydia follows, “What did you want to say anyway?”

Lydia lets her head fall to one shoulder, “Guess who I’ve just seen?”

“No,” Allison breathes, looking around frantically, “Really? He’s here?”

“Yep,” Lydia nods, “Jackson. He’s at school.”

 

“Beacon Hills has an unnatural number of abandoned buildings,” Stiles says, as Scott leads him to what is meant to be Derek’s base. “And how…” Stiles gapes as they descend the stairs, “How the hell did Derek get a subway car into here? I wasn’t even aware Beacon Hills had a subway.”

“The train line was used for transporting goods,” a dark shape looms out in front of them, and the flicker of red means it’s Derek, lurking as usual. The alpha is regarding them with wariness and he doesn’t look the least bit trusting. “Scott. Stiles. Why do you have a coyote?”

In his arms, Malia snarls slightly, ears flattening. Stiles shifts her slightly, but thanks to his werewolf strength, she’s not heavy. He can feel her heart beating steadily, and her claws dig slightly into his arm, “It’s okay,” he whispers in her ears. “I’m not going to leave you. Wouldn’t leave anybody with these strange wolves.”

“Is that the same coyote from the school?” Isaac appears nearby, leaning against a rusted section of metal. Scott steps forwards and Stiles follows. Boyd and Erica are there too, frowning at them.

“Yes,” Scott frowns at Malia, as if he still doesn’t quite believe Stiles’ story, “That’s one of the reason’s we’re here.”

“You mean you actually need something from us, right?” Derek laughs, “That’s the only reason you’d be crawling to us on your belly. Do you want to join my pack?”

“If we must,” Scott says, and Stiles winces, because really joining Derek’s pack is the last thing he wants to do.

“And what is the coyote? A mascot?” Derek scoffs.

“My coyote,” Stiles  turns slightly away, feeling protective over her. He thinks Malia looks slightly smug at that. Stiles doesn't like going full shift. It makes his face fell tingly. But he doesn’t need the full shift to snarl at Derek in warning. The alpha doesn’t look ruffled, but Erica spooks. Isaac looks slightly cowed, but just stares at Stiles like he’s trying to reconsider the boy he’s spent the last few weeks helping to strategize lacrosse with. “Her name is Malia,” he snaps, “She was nine when on a full moon she was in a car crash. She lost control. Caused the crash. Her mother and sister died and she got stuck as a coyote.”

They gape at him.

Stiles crouches, dropping Malia on the ground. She looks nervous and he gestures, “Go on,” he tells her, “Show them.”

The coyote ducks her head, and when she looks up at everyone her eyes flare electric blue. Stiles has never really considered the colour beautiful before, not in regards to his own eyes, but Malia suits them.

Derek is still gaping. The other betas are gasping at her. Malia looks uncomfortable, and Stiles finds something to perch on and she hops up next to him, pressing against his side with a small whine. “She’s been stuck as a coyote for the past seven years. And we need a way to turn her back.”

Scott shrugs from where he’s standing behind Stiles, “We thought you might know,” he tells Derek, “Laura could shift fully into a wolf, couldn’t she?”

“Yes,” Derek seems at loss for words, “It’s rare. Really rare. She…” he gestures at the coyote sitting by Stiles, “Malia?” he queries. The blue-eyed omega nods, “Malia obviously has the ability but it… she got stuck. If we… if we got her back to human it’s unlikely she’ll manage the full shift for months. Maybe even years.”

Malia whines slightly at that.

“Why is she a coyote?” Isaac frowns, “Are werecoyotes a thing?”

“Sometimes the form that you take reflects the person that you are,” Derek sounds like he’s quoting something or someone, “A coyote is one of the most common forms a shifter can take as opposed to a wolf. The kanima is a rare one.” He looks up at Scott, “Is that the other thing? The kanima?”

“Yeah,” Scott shuffles uneasily.

“It’s Jackson,” Derek sighs, “Isn’t it?”

Scott gapes, and Stiles sighs, because in hindsight, yeah, it was obvious.

“The test didn’t work,” Erica frowns, “But it’s still Jackson? Why?”

“How many people do you know who have been bitten by a werewolf but haven’t turned?” Stiles asks, “Lydia and Jackson. And it’s not Lydia. So it had to be him. And he did. He turned. We… we had him locked up, but then he turned again and got out.”

“How did you know it was Jackson?” Scott asks Derek with a frown.

Derek gestures to where Erica stands, “Erica’s dad was the insurance investigator when his parents were killed in the car crash. A kanima is created by not knowing who you are, and Jackson is a prime example of a kid who feels they need to be the best, living up to the expectations of dead parents.”

Erica crosses her arms smugly, and Isaac looks a bit wary, stepping sideways away from her. The beta looks like he wants to head over to pet Malia, but the coyote is giving him a dirty glare so he doesn’t try. Stiles sinks one hand into her soft fur and feels the coyote melt into the touch. She’s a wild animal, but she’s adopted him somewhere along the way.

Stiles has no idea what reason prompted that decision by the errant coyote.

“And,” Erica points out, “Did you know that every time my dad sees Jackson drive by in his Porsche, he makes some comment about the huge settlement he'll be getting when he's 18.”

Stiles pulls a face at that, “So not only is Jackson rich now, but he's getting even richer at 18? There's something so deeply wrong with that.” He shakes his head in disgust.

“So you know it’s Jackson,” Scott spreads out his arms, “Fine. We’ll help you stop him. As part of your pack if need be. If you want me in, fine. I don’t speak for Stiles, but Allison and Lydia will help.”

“I’ll help,” Stiles says, “But you need to help me find a way to turn Malia back.”

“I don’t know any way,” Derek shrugs, “Find an anchor. Let it bring you back to humanity. But after eight years…” he shrugs, “She’s so far from humanity it’s unlikely she’ll be able to find a way back.”

“That’s not a solution,” Stiles snaps, “I’m going to help her, okay? With or without your input.” His hand has unknowingly tightened in Malia’s fur and she growls slightly.

“She’s an animal, Stiles,” Derek tries to placate him, “She’s been an animal for eight years. And even before that she killed her family. She must have. Her eyes are blue and you of all people know what that means, don’t you?”

Scott looks between them, because of course - Stiles thinks - Scott doesn’t know.

Well now he does.

“What does he mean?” Scott frowns, “Derek? What do blue eyes mean?”

“Blue eyes,” Derek grimaces, “Blue eyes mean you’ve taken the life of an innocent person. You’ve killed someone, and your eye colour shows it.” He glances at Stiles, “That’s why Stiles’ eyes colour changed after he joined Peter. Kill and join the pack - wasn’t that how he worked?”

“I know what colour my eyes are,” Stiles snaps, “And I know who I killed. But who did you kill, Derek?”

The three betas are looking nervous and Scott looks frustrated, “Stop it.” He snaps, “Stiles are you working with us or not?”

“Yes,” Stiles sighs, “Yes, I’ll help you.” his gaze drifts to the floor, and he has to do this. He can’t just turn away and pretend everything is okay. He’ll try to pretend that he can somehow make everything better by helping this one girl who currently is pressing her small furry body to his thigh. He’ll try to pretend he can’t hear Peter mocking Derek’s pack of outcasts in his head.

“See?” Scott turns to Derek, “We’re on your side. But on one condition.” Derek has this ‘what now’ expression on his face, “We’re going to catch him,” Scott specifies, “Catch Jackson. Catch him alive and not kill him. We’re doing this my way.”

 

“That’s the boys changing room,” Allison stops outside the door, “We can’t go in there,” she glances about, “Are you sure he’s in there? I mean… maybe we should just wait and…”

Lydia rolls her eyes at her friend. Allison’s been in the changing rooms before looking for Scott, having conversations with Scott and Stiles and now they’re looking for Jackson.

And everyone they asked (Danny) had said he was in here. “Wait out here then,” she sighs, shoving open the door and moving inside.

The room is empty, except for the sound of the shower. The door behind her swings open, almost knocking Lydia on the head but she steps aside at the last second, letting Allison follow her inside. “Jackson?” the hunter’s girl calls out, “Are you sure he’s in here?”

“Yes,” Lydia can’t lose faith now, so she determinedly sticks her chin up and marches around the corner. It’s Jackson there, coughing under the shower. It looks like black clinging to his lips and for a moment Lydia freezes in mixed concern for him and relief at finding him here. Then he turns and Lydia realises his state of undress, “Uh… Allison… wait there…”

“Why?” Allison stops, then realises, “Oh my god, is he naked?” she pulls a face.

“Stop visualising my boyfriend naked!” Lydia snaps, her words tripping off her tongue before she realises it.

“Boyfriend?” Jackson squints at her, sneering as he notes her presence, “I’m not your boyfriend, Lydia. I’m not some toy for you to show off and discard.” Violently he slams the shower off, shaking water droplets out of his hair, “What are you going here Lydia? Planning to kidnap me again and lock me up at your lake house?”

“For god’s sake, put some clothes on,” Lydia crosses her arms and steps back, because it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before, “We need to talk.”

“Fine,” Jackson stalks past and Lydia hears Allison’s embarrassed squeak as Jackson grabs some shorts from the bench. Lydia moves back so she can keep the pair in view, “Argent. Where’s that pretty little boyfriend of yours?”

“Scott’s none of your business,” Allison snaps defensively, “We’re here to talk to you.”

“Are you?” Jackson straightens, and steps towards the hunter’s girl, threateningly, “What’s the matter?” he tilts his head to one side as Allison steps back, “Are you okay? Your heart is beating like crazy.”

“Jackson, leave her alone!” Lydia snaps, “You’re dangerous. You need to come with us. Please.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffs, “I turn into a homicidal lizard, isn’t that the story you’re going with?”

“How did you get out of the boat house last night?” Allison challenges him and Jackson turns back to her, “The chains were snapped. You expect us to believe that’s not you?”

Jackson shrugs, “I have nothing to say to you.” He spins around, “Either of you. So why don’t you…” he gestures at Lydia, “Go back to making sure Stilinski isn’t arrested for murdering anyone, and you…” he glances at Allison, “You go back to your little Romeo and Juliet story. You do know it’s not going to last. Scott’s going to run back to join Derek and his little wolf pack and turn on you, just like before. They killed your aunt. They bit Lydia. Who do you think is going to be next?”

“Shut up,” Allison snaps, “Stiles hasn’t killed anyone. And we have a plan. A plan that involves stopping you from murdering anyone!”

“Jackson, stop this!” Lydia snaps, and Jackson turns so he stands between Allison and Lydia, “Stop this right now. Just listen to us. Listen to me. Please,” and she hopes that will work, hopes to god that maybe she can get through to him (she got through to him once after all) but there is nothing there.

Just a sneer and a laugh, “Why would I listen to a stupid bitch like you? Because you’re in love? And everything is just going to work out and we’re going to get back together and be happy? If that’s what you believe then you’re already dead.”

“Right after you,” Allison’s voice is like hard steel, and Lydia has no idea where Allison has pulled the weapon from, but she is holding her crossbow out, arrow loaded and pointed at Jackson, “Lydia, get out of the way.”

Lydia moves, not wanting to be anywhere near the aim of that arrow.

Jackson looks mildly surprised, “Are you going to shoot me? Did daddy teach you how to defend yourself?”

“No.” Allison shakes her head, “He’s been teaching me how to protect others.”

“Oh yeah?” And Lydia doesn’t think Jackson is going to do it, she doesn’t think he’s stupid enough… but then he moves forwards, lurching towards Allison and the teenager does what she has to and pulls the trigger.

One arm shoots out and catches it, and there are scales rippling along his arm even though Jackson doesn’t appear to be aware of it and the bolt is caught, enclosed in Jackson’s hand. He clenches his fist, then winces, dropping the arrow.

The arrow head had dug into his palm and drawn blood, and for a moment it looks red and normal, but then a tear of black drips into it. “Ow…” Jackson looks dazed, “What… what the hell?” he blinks at Lydia and then at Allison, “What are you doing in here? This is the boys changing room!”

“Come on,” Allison moves, grabbing Lydia’s hand. Lydia doesn’t fight, but she knows she should. Jackson doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s like Scott on one of his earlier full moons; he’s in a fugue state of not even knowing what is happening. He is blinking at her, and she wonders if this softer, slightly confused and scared Jackson knows what is happening. She wonders if this Jackson still loves her. “Let’s go,” Allison tugs her gently, and Lydia turns, letting her friend pull her out of the room and away from Jackson.

 

“I am not looking after your pet coyote,” Erica sneers at him as Stiles pulls his jeep up outside the hospital.

“Would you just consider keeping an eye on her?” he snaps, frustrated, and glancing at where Malia is crouched warily in the foot well of the backseat. She doesn’t appear to mind the car ride that much, but neither does she want to leave Stiles alone. “Can you stay here?” he asks her, “And I know you can understand me, so you have to listen. Got it? Stay.” He points his finger downwards.

She curls his lips a little in a manner which suggests if she could talk she’d be complaining that ‘I’m not a dog’.

“I’m going to come in with you,” Erica decides, cracking open the car door.

“Fine,” Stiles gives up arguing with the feisty blonde, “Stay,” he tells Malia again, and the coyote huffs, then curls up and goes to sleep.

He locks his jeep, and prays that she’ll be okay, then follows behind the marching blonde. “Why are we here again?” she asks, casually.

“Why am I here?” Stiles steps past, deciding he might as well be leading them. Erica pouts but he ignores her, “There was another murder last night. I want to check the body.” The beta wrinkles her nose, “To see if it’s the same,” he elaborates, “And to get details. Juicy, juicy details.”

“You’re disgusting.” Erica announces, looking even more put off by him when he somehow manages to locate the morgue within two minutes of them entering the hospital.

Stiles just grins at her charmingly, holding the door open and gesturing her in, with glances up and down the corridor to make sure nobody has spotted them. “Obviously that appeals to you,” he says, following her in. He gags a little at the smell of dead bodies, but they’re all cold and frozen, so it’s not as bad as it could be.

“Which one is it?” Erica bends down, blonde locks falling in her face as she examines the names on each of the doors.

“Depends if they’re finished with the autopsy yet,” Stiles hums, and out of morbid curiosity more than anything he opens one of the drawer doors, peering inside.

Peter Hale’s burnt corpse lies there: still, eyes closed, but as Stiles stares they blink open, flaring red.

He slams the door closed. Erica is giving him a funny look. “Well it’s not that one,” he tells her, then spots the bodies on the table, “There.” He points.

She turns, and draws back one of the sheets, “You know,” she drawls, “When I used to picture my first date with you I never envisioned any dead bodies involved.” Stiles throws a pair of gloves at her, and she catches them, glaring at him. “This is disgusting.”

“Hey,” Stiles shrugs, pulling on his own gloves, “You wanted to come.” The nitrile gloves are cold, and they stick to the damp patches of sweat between his fingers. He winces, and he kind of wants to be sick, but he ignores that feeling, reaching out and touching the cold body.

Whoever said that dead people looked like they were sleeping obviously hasn’t seen a dead person. There’s an unnatural stillness that just screams wrong, and Stiles finds himself looking for the faint rise and fall of the chest, but there is nothing. The body is silent and still and very, very, dead.

“That’s definitely the kanima,” Erica remarks, as she points out the nick to the back of the neck. “Yeah,” she says, and Stiles rolls the body over revealing the long claw marks down the back, “Definitely.”

Stiles drops the body of the man back down to the table. “Sean Long,” he reads the name tag attached the foot, “That’s the one victim.”

“And Jessica Bartlett,” Erica has already moved to the next body, a table over. “Uh… Stiles. Slight problem.”

He tugs the sheet over the man’s still, cold face and steps towards the blonde beta, “What?” he asks. Erica is peering at the label, “What is it?”

The wolf drops the label, glancing up at him, “Reported to have died from asphyxiation.” She steps towards the head and tilts to one side, “There’s no claw marks. Nothing. She wasn’t killed by the kanima.”

“Then maybe…” His gloved fingers trace the smooth skin on the back of the victim’s neck, “Maybe instead of being killed by the kanima, she was killed by the person controlling it. The bestiary says the kanima only goes after murderers. She… she was pregnant, right?” he can smell it on the body, but has no idea how to describe the scent.

Erica nods, flipping through a clipboard with paper on it, “So she gives birth to the baby and afterwards, she’s smothered to death by the other killer.” She rocks back on her heels, “When I asked for the bite,” her voice is shaky, “I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“Yeah, well that’s your choice,” Stiles shoves the sheet back over the lifeless corpse, “We all have to live with them.” He tugs the uncomfortable gloves off and pulls out his phone, composing a text to Scott.

“What did you do?” Erica demands, suddenly, “What did you do that isolated you from everyone? Why did you spend weeks not talking to Scott or the others?”

Stiles laughs, and it taste bitter in his throat, “You mean Derek didn’t tell you?” he asks, “He didn’t tell you about his uncle? I mean… Derek wasn’t always the alpha. It used to be Talia,” he lists out, “Derek’s mother. But then she burnt to death in a house fire along with the rest of the family. Then it was Laura, Derek’s sister. But she was killed and ripped in half by Derek’s comatose uncle, Peter. So then it was Peter.”

“He’s the one who bit you and Scott, right?” Erica is insistent, pressing for answers and she rounds the table, peeling off her gloves and stepping towards Stiles.

“And then it was Derek,” Stiles finishes, turning away, shoving his phone back into his pocket, “And we need to go,” his head is tilted to one side, “Someone’s coming.”

Erica looks frustrated, but she bins her gloves, Stiles following suit. He moves with quick steps towards the door, about to reach out when the handle turns by itself and the door opens, and Stiles freezes, finding himself staring straight into the face of Chris Argent.

 

“Where’s Boyd?”

“He’s getting supplies,” Isaac drawls as he saunters into the animal clinic, “The full moon is coming. And Derek has these lovely chains and head gear for us.” Isaac is snarky now he’s found his confidence from one of those scarves wrapped around his neck. “He _said_ he was going to teach us to change, but there hasn’t been time.” The beta looks obnoxiously towards where his alpha is sullen by his side.

“I thought control would have been one of the first things you taught them,” Scott frowns, looking at Derek.

The alpha looks uncomfortable, “With the Argents and the kanima around we’ve been too busy.”

“I still say we should forget about the kanima,” Isaac sighs. “Let the hunters deal with it and keep them both busy.”

“We. Can’t!” Derek snaps, rounding on his beta, “There’s something about the way Gerard looked at it. He wasn't afraid - at all. I don't know what he knows or what he's planning. But I'm sure about one thing. We have to find it first.”

“It’s also killing people,” Scott looks grim, “And it’s Jackson. We can’t just let them kill Jackson. Allison and Lydia said Jackson was at school today, but not himself. They didn’t want to confront him because when they did he almost shifted. They left right after. We need to help him. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing!”

“And how is the cryptic ass vet meant to help?” Isaac leans around Derek to where Deaton is lingering the background, “Uh… no offense.”

“None taken,” Deaton remarks, perfectly calmly and he gestures them in, leading them to his main operations room, a metal table in the middle. “I happen to have a bit of experience in this sort of thing.”

“You’ve faced a kanima before?” Isaac narrows his eyes, “I thought you were a veterinarian?”

“I am,” Deaton nods, gaze scanning over bottles that he’s pulled out of nowhere and placed on the table, “And no, I’ve never faced a kanima, so I don’t have anything that will help to defend you again a paralytic toxin.”

“We could go offensive,” Isaac suggests brightly, and Scott has to resist the urge to punch the beta, “Would that work?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Derek grunts, “I nearly took its head off and Argent emptied an entire clip into it but the thing just climbed right back up.”

“Has it shown any weaknesses?” Deaton leans forwards with a frown, considering the facts.

“It can’t swim,” Derek frowns, “At least, I don’t think it can. When we were at the pool it wouldn’t go anywhere near the water. It went for Lydia instead.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Scott frowns, “Jackson is the captain of the swim team. Is this like… when he could be paralyzed by the venom? That he’s essentially two different people? Jackson… and the kanima…”

“And the kanima isn’t as much of a person,” Deaton inputs some cryptic advise, “But a puppet. Who you’re really trying to catch is the puppeteer. The master. If you catch him then the kanima’s strings will most likely be broken.”

“But what if someone just picks them right back up again?” Derek looks frustrated, “What if it doesn’t do anything?”

“It’s worth a try!” Scott argues, distracted suddenly when his phone beeps, “It’s Stiles,” he says, “The couple that were murdered - only one was murdered by the kanima. The other was suffocated, assumedly by the person controlling the kanima.” He puts his phone back in his pocket. “That’s good, isn’t it?” he looks up at everyone, “It means Jackson couldn’t kill her. She was pregnant, and his own mother died pregnant. It means there is still some Jackson in the kanima, we just need to find it.”

“Hold on. If they’re bonded, and the master’s fear of water is being projected on the kanima, then what if it goes both ways?”

“So what if something that affects the kanima, affects the master, even though he may be human?” Derek frowns, considering the idea and seemingly finding no fault.

“What does that mean?” Isaac hasn’t quite got it.

“It means we can catch them,” Scott says, triumphantly, “Both of them.”

 

“Chris,” Stiles plasters a smile on his face even as he steps back into the morgue, almost walking into Erica, “How nice to meet you here. What a coincidence, huh?”

“Stiles.” Chris sounds unimpressed, but he looks surprised to see him there. He steps forwards, closing the door behind him. The hunter’s gaze sweeps over Erica standing behind Stiles, but he makes no effort to go for his gun, “What are you doing here?”

“Just poking our noses into places we’re not welcome,” Stiles shrugs, “You know. The usual.” He laughs and tries to edge around to the door, but Chris moves in front of him. “We really need to go…” Stiles tries a different tactic, “So if you don’t mind…”

“I take it you’ve seen the bodies,” Chris says, “Do you know what killed them?”

“Bodies?” Stiles wrinkles his nose, “I’d rather not see them, I’m slightly squeamish, I mean… usually I’m okay but seeing a dead person might just make me hurl my dinner and I’d rather I didn’t…”

“Stiles,” Erica says calmly, “Shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

Chris glances between them with something that looks almost like amusement. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you didn’t answer my question. Do you know what killed them?”

Erica shakes her head and Stiles is about to come up with another reply when Chris begins speaking again.

Without even waiting for their lies, he starts talking, “It’s a shapeshifter,” he steps around the pair and goes straight for the one body - Sean - and once again pulls back the sheet. Stiles turns away, genuinely hating having to see the dead guy. Again. “A rare form that South American legends refer to as a kanima.”

“But this girl,” and Chris goes straight for the other sheet, “She was strangled. Smothered to death. Do you know what that means?”

“That the pair were into some really kinky stuff?” Stiles says, before he can stop himself. Erica glares sideways at him.

“There are two killers,” Chris seems to be giving them a lecture.

Or rather, not a lecture.

An interrogation.

“If the two of you, know anything,” Chris’ voice is like ice, “Then maybe we can stop it. Maybe we can stop it before another newborn daughter is deprived of her parents.”

“Well I’m sorry,” Erica says, “We don’t know any more than you.” Stiles can hear the lie, but Chris can’t. “Derek’s looking,” the beta shrugs, “But we’re lacking in knowledge.”

“What you know…” Chris looks angry, “That makes you responsible. It makes you responsible for this.” He gestures at the dead couple.

Stiles laughs, “Nu-uh,” he shakes his head, “I know what I’m responsible and this?” he waves his hands around, “This isn’t it.” He glances up at the hunter, not even the slightest bit scared. Chris can’t do anything. Stiles’ dad knows too much for now for anything bad to happen to Stiles and the Sheriff not know who to blame. Gerard - Gerard is a loose cannon - but Chris, Chris sticks to the code like glue. Chris isn’t the threat.

Chris is angry though, standing and stepping towards him, frustration in every muscle, “You’re responsible for the hunter at the police station,” he accuses, “Aren’t you? You are the only one…”

“That attack,” another voice interjects, “Was labelled as an animal attack,” and Stiles whirls around, taking in his dad, standing framed in the doorway, “And that’s how it’s going to stay.”

Chris stops moving, “Sheriff,” he says, curtly.

“Argent.” Stiles’ dad glances from Erica to Stiles and then back to the hunter, “I don’t recall you having permission to be in here. In fact,” he steps back, “None of you have permission to be in here. Stiles and… Erica, isn’t it? Out. You too, Argent. I’ll have words with you later.”

Stiles slips out, Erica right behind him, “You know,” she says, trying to look dismissive as she examines her nails, “Your dad is kind of badass,” she says, as she watches Chris Argent slink away, the Sheriff glaring daggers at his back.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, feeling just a little bit proud, “He kind of is.”

The Sheriff turns, and Stiles braces himself for the questions about the morgue, the hunter Stiles killed, Erica… but instead the man just sighs and looks really confused, “So…” He begins, “Do you want to try and explain to me why there is a coyote taking residence in your jeep?”


	13. Hunter

Her door opens without warning and Allison pauses in the essay she is writing, finally getting a chance to catch up on school work. Most of it is probably due in tomorrow or knowing her luck, yesterday, but she hasn’t checked. “If you don’t trust me enough to let me have a lock on my door, the least you can do is knock,” she glances over her shoulder, spotting her mother framed in her doorway. She turns back to her work, letting her hair fall down as a barricade between them, so her mom can’t see her expression.

“Allison,” Victoria’s voice is stern. She’s always been stern, but she’s always loved her too, Allison knows that. Behind the sharp edges and tight mask, there is a person there.

Maybe that is why she made such good friends with Lydia so quickly.

“What?” she looks up from her work, “Is there something else you don’t want me doing? Someone else you don’t want me to talk to?”

“I am going to ask you something.” Her mother steps to the side so she can see her clearly, “And I want you to answer me honestly.” Allison gestures her to go on, trying not to think of how her heart is racing. “Are you still seeing Scott McCall?”

Her breath catches and she forces out a weak laugh, “No.” it sounds too fake so she repeats herself, “Of course not! Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been distracted,” Victoria busies herself with dusting a shelf, lifting up the ornaments and wiping a cloth over it, “And when you’re distracted, you make mistakes,” her mother seems tense, “You’re always been spending a lot of time with the Stilinski boy at school.”

“I have to,” Allison says, “We’ve been partnered together for history.” She avoids her mother’s gaze, “And I haven’t been talking to Scott. I promise you. You… you saw us in biology the other day. He sits the other side of the classroom from me.”

And with that Victoria seems to relax slightly, “Okay,” she says, “I know it’s hard, but I want you to know that I’m very proud of you. But just…” she perches on the desk and one hand finds Allison’s. She looks up at the sharp face, glittering blue eyes with emotion churning in them, barely buried, “Just think of how strong it makes you,” her mother whispers, “You’re so much better than all those other girls, worrying about who is going to take them to senior prom.”

Allison tilts her head to one side, “Can’t I be strong, and go to prom?”

“Of course,” Victoria smiles, “But not with Scott McCall. And preferably not with the odd one - Stilinski, either.”

“Stiles is hung up on Lydia,” Allison laughs as if that lie makes things any better. If there had been the chance of anything happening between the pair, that had long since burnt up.

Victoria nods, lips twitching in what might be called a smile, “Thank you,” she nods. “I… Scott’s mother popped in to visit me. She thought you two might still be together but…” she shakes her head, “I know you’re better than that.” Allison’s stomach rolls with guilt, as her mother stands, heading towards her door, “And as long as it stays this way,” Victoria says on her way out, “Then we don’t have to kill a sixteen year old boy.”

It sounds almost like a threat, but in Allison’s family, she thinks words like that are almost the norm.

 

“Deaton’s meeting us after school,” Scott is telling Stiles, and it’s odd, having his friend sitting beside him in the locker room again after weeks of no Stiles, “He’s got something to trap the kanima and the person controlling him.”

“Hey,” Allison shoves her way in and bounces across the locker room to them, straight past an almost naked Danny who clutches his shirt to him in surprise, looking alarmed. Allison doesn’t even notice, stopping next to the two boys, “Do you have tickets?” she waves one around, “Matt got me one.”

“How did he find them?” Scott squints, “I was there last night and they sold up before either he or I managed to get some.”

“So you don’t have tickets?” Stiles’ voice rises in pitch slightly, “Scott!” he almost whines.

Allison shrugs, hugging her scarf to her, “He said he got them online.”

“Okay, that…” Stiles stands, looking between Allison and Scott, “That is creepy. I don’t like him. Does anybody else not like him?” he chews on his lip for a moment, “I’m not counting you,” he says idly, and Scott frowns, because Stiles is talking to neither him nor Allison in that moment, “Hey!” Stiles says suddenly, before Scott can query who Stiles is talking to, “Maybe it’s Matt. The whole thing comes back to the video, right?”

“But he found the missing tape in the first place,” Allison rolls her eyes.

“Exactly,” Stiles waves a hand around, “He’s trying to throw suspicion off himself!”

Scott and Allison stare at him, “And he would go after a hunter, Isaac’s dad, a mechanic and married couple… why…?”

“I… I’m still working on that.” Stiles shrugs, “Currently my only theory is that he’s evil because he’s got that squinty little glare and the stalkery thing with the camera going on and…” he stops suddenly, staring at Allison, “I swear he’s always around you,” he says, “Like… even when he’s not talking to you, he’s down the corridor from you or something. Are you sure you’re okay to go with him?” Stiles seems almost concerned.

Allison laughs it off, “I can look after myself,” she shoves Stiles in the shoulder gently, and Scott wonders when the pair grew so close, “And as long as Scott is okay with me going with him…”

“Of course,” Scott nods, “It’s… it’s good… to be seen with other people.”

“She could go with me.” Stiles suggests with a shrug.

“Okay, let me rephrase that,” Allison leans forwards, “People who aren’t werewolves.” Her voice drops in volume, “Okay?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “That still doesn’t solve our problem. We have no tickets because someone…” he turns to Scott, “Couldn’t get them.”

“You three!” Coach barks out suddenly and Allison jumps, whirling around, “Argent. This is the _boys_ locker room. Please… stop reminding me why I drink… every… night.” He sighs, “Have any of you three love birds seen Jackson?”

“Nope,” Allison shrugs.

“Sorry Coach,” Stiles looks lost, “I haven’t seen him since the last time I saw him.”

“And when was that?” Coach frowns.

“Last time I saw him was definitely the time I saw him last.”

There is a pause. “Okay,” Coach turns away, “Danny, I want you to monitor those three in case they try anything. The only thing I want McCall to be putting it in is the goal, do you understand?”

Poor Danny looks traumatised, and Isaac who is sidling past looks amused. “You three really need to find a better meeting place,” he says. “I heard you two needed tickets,” he gestures at Stiles and Scott.

“Actually I’m a fan of breaking and entering…” Stiles sneers, “Please don’t tell me you and Erica have tickets already?”

Isaac looks smug and Stiles just gapes. Scott shakes his head, “Don’t fight, you two.” He sighs, because Stiles and Isaac are too alike for their own good. Scott’s afraid to leave them alone because they’re either going to murder each other, or they’ll end up robbing a bank. It’s easier to insert himself between them. “Nobody’s selling,” he tells Isaac, “Not anymore.”

Isaac rolls his eyes, “How do you even survive?” he spins around; “Wait here, boys. And girl.” He strolls off towards a bunch of seniors. Allison spins away from him, not looking over her shoulder.

“I’m pretending I didn’t see that,” she says, as the sounds of the fight drift towards them, “Any of that,” she adds, as there is another punch and a whine, then the sound of someone getting the breath knocked out of them, “Isn’t that technically an abuse of your power?” she glares at Scott as if he should be doing something.

“He’s Derek’s beta,” Stiles says, petulantly. “And he’s obviously a fan of beating people up. Do you know that most bullies were bullied or abused themselves?” It’s a horrible thing to say while Isaac is right there, heading towards them, now with two tickets.

“For that, I’m considering ripping this one up,” Isaac gives one to Scott but holds the second one out of the reach of Stiles.

“You can consider it,” Stiles shrugs, “But I wouldn’t actually do it if I were you. Might prove to be painful, later,” he rocks back on his heels, and it’s just for a moment, but Scott is aware of Stiles’ eyes flashing blue. Isaac glares, then hands over the ticket, “See?” Stiles looks smug, “I’m more of a fan of creative threats and intimidation.”

“Just be careful,” Allison warns, “My family are getting suspicious. It’s a miracle my dad hasn’t dragged me down to the basement yet to try and find out what I know.” She winces, “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she says, weakly, “But they’re planning something. I just don’t know what.”

“Don’t worry.” Scott reassures her, “We’ll be careful.”

Stiles snorts, “We always are, aren’t we?”

 

“Ketamine?” Scott asks later, leaning on the metal table of the vet clinic, with Lydia, Allison and his boss standing around him. “You mean like the stuff we used against Stiles?” He looks uncomfortable, so Lydia picks up the syringe, examining it. She wonders if this will be enough, and considers asking for more.

Deaton looks calm and unbothered by Scott’s scepticism. “It should be enough to subdue him, and to buy you some time. You just need to get close enough to Jackson.” Scott still looks uneasy.

“Don’t worry,” Allison shrugs, “Erica and Isaac are handling that. What do you need me and Lydia for?”

“This.” Deaton drops a container on the metal table, “This is from the mountain ash tree. In many cultures it is believed to protect against the supernatural. My clinic is lines with ashwood, which makes it difficult for a creature with the aim of causing harm to enter.”

“That’s why Peter couldn’t,” Scott realises, and Lydia has no idea what he’s referring to but obviously Deaton does, because he nods. “Peter tried to come in here but he couldn’t cross the mountain ash line.”

“All it needs to work is belief. And then you’ll trap anything supernatural inside.” And the guy really needs to work on the clarity of his answers. That make no sense.

“So we make a ring of it and wish really, really hard?” Lydia picks up the bottle and eyes it sceptically, trying to make sense of it. “Is this magic fairy dust really going to do the trick?” It’s not scientific. It’s not even vaguely mathematical.

But then again, neither are werewolves.

“It’s not just the dust,” Deaton says, “It’s the intent. The _belief_. Think of it like gunpowder. It’s just powder, until a spark ignites it. This?” he snatches the bottle from Lydia, “It’s just ash, treated and finely powdered, but just ash. Scott could probably even pick it up. But the moment you ignite it, the moment you pour your belief into it… well… there’s no limit to what you can do.”

“Well I hope this works a bit better than gun powder,” Lydia sniffs, “I don’t fancy setting myself on fire.”

“It’s like shooting,” Allison tries to puzzle it out, “I mean… I’m a great shooter, but most of my shots now, only half of it is about aiming. The rest… the rest is believing and knowing I can do it. I _imagine_ the arrow going into the target.”

“Exactly,” Deaton says, “You need to believe you will succeed, because otherwise, you will fail.”

Deaton holds out the jar and this time Lydia takes it, tilting her head to one side as she considers the dust again. “Well I guess I can try,” she shrugs, because at this stage it’s all she can do.

“Try not,” Allison tells her gently, “Do. Or do not. There is no try.” Lydia blinks, because that’s actually pretty good advice. Allison stares at her, then grins, “That’s a Star Wards quote. Did you not… did nobody get it?” her grin falls, “I’ll tell Stiles later. He’d appreciate it,” she grumbles. “And then when this is over,” she leans back, “We’re making the pair of you watch Star Wars.”

“If this is over,” Scott says, grimly.

“It will be,” Allison’s tone is dark, “It has to be.”

 

“Okay, so tell me all that again. But this time try to make it sound like reality and not a fairy tale.”

Stiles sighs, rocking back on the couch. He’s had to resort to using a chess board with labelled pieces, all the hunters in purple, the wolves in orange, he’s found a red piece of paper for Derek and Peter, and then yellow for the rest. Gerard, Chris, Victoria and Kate sit the one side of the board, and there is a lone purple knight floating on the other side, where Stiles, Scott, Lydia and Jackson lie. The other wolves are spread somewhere in between, unless it’s Peter in which case he’s been thrown off the board entirely.

 _“I really don’t appreciate that you know,”_ said person muses, _“And why the bishop, Stiles, really?”_

Malia’s on there too in orange, a castle. She’s also sitting right next to him on a towel, because the Sheriff won’t have her sitting on the couch and shedding fur that one of them will have to clean up. Stiles glances at her and the coyote just blinks.

“I don’t know what to believe,” the Sheriff sighs, “I’d say that a girl can’t be a coyote, but then no normal coyote would just sit there… like that…” he gestures at Malia, “Is she going to be like that forever?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs, “I don’t even know if she wants to be turned back but she… she’s sort of adopted me. Which is why…” he makes a grab for the piece that is Jackson (a pawn, appropriately) and then the other rook which is just labelled as ‘master’. “We’ve made a plan to capture them.”

“Both? The kanima and whoever is controlling it.”

“Yeah.” Stiles nods, as if he can’t see any fault in this. “Why?” he asks, suddenly, “Have you got more information? Any leads?” he peers around their living room as if his dad had once again stolen work and brought it home with him.

“No,” the Sheriff frowns, “I am not sharing confidential police work with a teenager.” Stiles pulls a face and opens his mouth, about to launch into an argument, “But there is something,” he sighs, and Stiles stops, because his dad is going to tell him anyway. “You know what I always say. One’s an incident… two’s coincidence…”

“Three’s a pattern,” Stiles stops stroking the coyote, leaning forwards, “You found something linking them.”

“Yeah,” his dad nods, “The mechanic, the husband and the wife are all the same age. All 24.”

Stiles frowns, “But Isaac’s dad isn’t anywhere near 24.”

“Which is why I didn’t pick up on it,” the Sheriff shrugs, “I thought they weren’t connected at all until I found out that Isaac Lahey had an older brother named Camden. He died in combat but, if he was still alive today, guess how old he’d be?”

“Twenty-four.” Stiles frowns, “So same age… same class?” he glances up and his dad is nodding. “Did you think of that?”

“I… I mean… yeah,” his dad scoffs, “I would have. Eventually.”

“Yeah, well you… you look into that,” Stiles glances at his watch, and the coyote curled next to him picks up on his unease, whining slightly.

“What are you going to do about her?” John nods towards Malia.

Stiles looks wide-eyed for a moment, “Oh yeah,” he hums, “About that… Well I was hoping you’d keep an eye on her here. This is your night off, right?”

“It won’t be if I get called out to this rave when another person gets murdered.”

“They won’t,” Stiles says, emphatically, “We’ve got a plan. Scott… okay, Isaac… hooked us up with tickets this morning. And everyone is going to be there, I just need you to keep an eye on Malia.”

The Sheriff sighs, “Looks like it’s just you and me, then,” he says to the coyote, “You interested in eating my veggie burger?”

Said coyote lets out a bark, but John has no idea if it means yes or no.

 

Allison leans back as Lydia pulls up her car outside the building that looks like nothing more than a block of concrete. If it wasn’t for the flashing lights in the windows high up she’d doubt she had come to the right place. When she opens the car door, muted music drifts over her head.

“Are you meeting Matt here?” Lydia asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, stalking around to the trunk and opening it. She pulls a face at the bags of mountain ash in there, but obediently lugs one out.

“Here,” Allison steps forwards, “I’ll help you get this down. I don’t need to meet with Matt for a little while, okay?” she picks up the end of the bag and Lydia unwinds the tie from her end. She angles it downwards, allowing a little trickle of black powder to reach the floor.

“Start walking,” Lydia instructs, and Allison steps backwards, checking to make sure she’s not walking into anything. Lydia controls the flow and Allison bears the weight of the powder. It’s heavy, but it gets lighter and lighter as it runs out.

She glances at Lydia, her friend frowning in concentration, “Will it be enough?” she asks.

“It will have to be,” Lydia says, decisively. “Woah! Hey!” she protests suddenly when Allison drops her end of the bag. Lydia crouches, glancing up at where Allison has frozen, “What the hell?” Lydia snaps.

Allison swallows, because she knows that car that has just pulled up. “It’s my dad,” she whispers, “Oh my god, what is my dad doing here? Does he know? Oh my god…”

“Don’t panic,” Lydia tries to calm her down, but it isn’t working. “Allison. Stay calm.”

“I… I can’t. I’ve got to help the others. I’ve got to…” she darts away, leaving Lydia crouched there over several metres of ash lining the building.

“Allison! Allison!”

She has to warn the others.

She doesn’t look back.

 

Derek’s not expecting the hunters.

And that’s when it all starts to go wrong.

He’s not expecting the hunters - he and Boyd are meant to be looking for the kanima master while the others deal with Jackson. But instead they haven’t even made it into the rave when the sound of the hunter’s jeeps are audible, and then Derek has a new problem.

“Are you sure?” Boyd asks, as Derek changes directions to intersect with the Argent’s path.

He nods, “We need to give the others time.” He says and then steps out where the hunters can see him. Boyd follows. Stupid. Derek almost wishes he’d sent the stoic loyal beta off to find the others. To warn them.

Chris is collecting his rifle from his car, but he spots Derek almost as soon as the alpha has stepped out of the shadows. “Derek,” he says, his tone warning the werewolf not to try anything, “Back off.”

“Back off?” Derek scoffs, “That - that’s really all you’ve got? I got to be honest, Chris. I was really expecting more from the… uh… big, bad, veteran werewolf hunter.” It feels good to wind him up. To mock him. To be the one with the plan and the back-up, even if his back-up are currently going through with the plan and he’s the one going off schedule.

“Okay,” Chris sighs, then in one swift movement pulls the rifle out of the car trunk, swinging it around, “How about ‘didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bring claws to a gunfight’?”

“That one sounded pretty good.”

Derek glares at Boyd. So much for loyal support.

 

“Allison!” the voice snaps her out of her frantic panic. She stops trying to fight her way through the sea of people, letting herself be buffeted along, her panic still rising but she squashes it down, trying to appear calm when she finally turns with a smile towards Matt.

“Hey!” she says, “I had trouble finding you… it’s just so busy in here!” she laughs, waving a hand around, “I thought you said this was a party?”

It’s not a party. It’s a rave. The music is so loud it’s making her teeth ache, and the lights are flashing while the dance floor is just a sweaty mass of moving people. On any other night Allison would like to let go, to join in and dance and have fun like a normal teenage girl.

But she can’t tonight.

Matt looks a bit sheepish as he appears suddenly from the mass of people, “So a little more than a party,” he shrugs, “But you’re having fun, right?”

She nods, letting her body rock weakly in time with the music, “Yeah,” she nods, “Great.”

“It’s better now that you’re here,” he smiles, and on anybody else that would be sweet, but there is just something about Matt… maybe she’s been spending too much time with Stiles lately, but there is something about him that makes her skin itch.

And - oh god - she thinks. Lydia is right. He likes her. He likes her a lot and no matter what Allison has about letting herself be seen with other people to stop her mother getting suspicious, she can’t do this. She’s not ready for another big relationship. At the moment it’s either Scott or nobody.

“Hey, do you want to move closer to the DJ?” Matt seems to sense the awkwardness in the air. “Or can I get you a drink?” he waves his plastic cup around, and what sort of person has Allison become that her mind immediately flies to the idea of ‘can I trust him to buy me a drink and not put something in it?’

“No,” she shakes her head, “No, actually I said I was meeting some people here. I just want to find them, if that’s okay?”

And for a moment something flashes across his eyes, but then he’s laughing. “Yeah, sure. Can I come with?”

“Oh no, that’s really… not… no, I’ll be right back,” she shrugs, backing off already through the crowd.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She nods, “Everything’s fine, I just need to… I’ve just got to… I’ve got to go. Actually I see Scott now… I… Scott!” she turns and shoves between two dancers, one of whom protests violently, and the other turns out to be Danny who sees her looking desperate, spots a heartbroken Matt over her shoulder and then wordless points to a dim corner.

“Scott and Stiles are over there.” He tells her.

She shoots him a grateful smile and darts away, “Scott!” she calls out, “Stiles!”

Stiles is first to spot her, and he looks like he’s being tortured, except Allison has seen what he looks like when he’s being tortured, and in comparison now he just looks very irritated. He’s wearing his noise dampening headphones, but he still hears her coming. “You doing okay?” he asks, but Allison thinks she should really be asking him that.

“No. Where’s Scott?”

Scott appears right behind Stiles, leaning over his friend’s shoulder. Stiles leans away uncomfortably, but Scott ignores that, “What’s wrong?”

She loves how he can tell something is wrong with her instantly, the way he is instantly in tune with her mood, her wavering panic.

“My dad,” she blurts out, “He’s here. They’re here for Jackson.”


	14. Master

“What?” Scott snaps out immediately and Stiles’ head is pounding with music but the exclamation still sounds loud because it is right in his ear. Stiles moves away, turning so he can see both Scott and Allison, “How do they know?” Scott demands.

“I didn’t tell them!” Allison hisses, running a frantic hand through her hair, “I swear I didn’t tell them!”

“I didn’t…” Scott looks torn, because he’d jumped to conclusions. He doesn’t know the hunters, doesn’t know how ruthless they can be.

Scott honestly doesn’t think their old Principal just decided to retire, does he?

“Hunters have their ways,” Stiles points out, trying to defend Allison. Because it’s true. They stole the bestiary from Gerard after all, the hunters probably know all about the kanima by now.

“They’ll ruin the plan!” Scott looks like he’s working himself into a frenzy of worry. “They’ll ruin everything! Do they know it’s Jackson?”

Allison shrugs, “I don’t know! They know someone is going to die. Here. Now. Soon. We have to do something!”

“You’ve done enough!” Scott’s frustrated now, and Stiles bites his lip, because neither of his friends are acting in the best way right now. He steps in, before one of them says something they’ll regret.

“The plan will still work,” he says, “Scott, listen. Isaac and Erica are out there right now. I’ll keep an eye on them. Okay? It will work.” Scott glances at him, and Stiles swallows, trying to think of words to reassure his friend, “Do you trust me?” he asks, weakly, and his heart skips a beat as he waits for a response.

Scott doesn’t answer. Stiles thinks that is almost better but it still hurts. His best friend turns to Allison, “I’m going to check on Derek and Boyd. Maybe try to keep the hunters away.” He glances at Stiles, “You get Jackson.” Stiles nods.

“What about me?” Allison demands, “Scott…” Scott makes to move away, but she grabs onto his arm, “Scott, what do you want me to do?”

Scott looks like everything is slipping out of his control, “Stay out of the way,” he says, and then slips out of her grip leaving Allison staring slack-jawed after him.

“How’s Lydia?” Stiles asks her.

She looks lost, but nods, “She’s okay, she started the line going. But then I saw my dad and I just panicked. I swear I didn’t tell them, you have to believe me…”

“Hey,” Stiles grabs onto one of her flailing hands, “For what it’s worth, I believe you. Now either come and help me and the betas drag Jackson out of here, or go check Scott doesn’t get himself killed.”

She nods, looking happy to have something to do. “Good luck,” she whispers, then vanishes into the crowd of bodies. Stiles takes a moment to slow his heart down, then turns, just as Isaac and Erica lurch out of the masses, Jackson draped over their shoulders.

Stiles smells blood, “What happened?”

“Bastard put up a fight,” Isaac grits his teeth, “But don’t worry. I got him, right in the neck.”

“Well?” Erica hisses, “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to help us? Stop smirking like an asshole and help us, asshole.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and steps forwards to grab Jackson’s feet, dragging him away while the betas hold him, under his arms. “I still say we just kill him,” he mumbles under his breath, “Might save us the trouble of carrying his unconscious body everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Isaac grunts, “But then we’d be carrying his dead body. And do you really want to be caught with Jackson’s dead body while his dad is the best attorney in Beacon Hills?”

Stiles blanches, but it could be worse. He could have been caught with blood on his claws, yet he’s evaded that thus far. There will be a time though when he shows up at one crime scene too many.

And as the three of them slip out to the room they set up, Stiles thinks they’ve managed again to get away unseen.

They’ve caught Jackson.

Now they just need to catch the master.

 

The ash runs out.

And Lydia stops and stares, turning to look at the line because she’s got almost five metres left to go, and she wouldn’t be in this situation if Allison hadn’t dropped the bag and run off on her.

The dust she has left clings to her sweaty palm. She stands there, feeling like an idiot and not knowing what to do. She was meant to have enough. Deaton had given her two full bags and she had spent the afternoon lugging it around in the back of her car.

It had to work.

There are howls in the distance and the sound of gunshots. She closes her eyes, because that is very, very bad news.

There is another howl which is cut off by a sudden gunshot. She winces, because she’s standing there doing nothing. She has to… she can’t just do nothing.

Sick of feeling useless and frustrated she drops the last of the ash clutched in her hand, brushing her hand off.

And it drifts.

That’s the only way to describe it. She’d liken it later to little iron filings being drawn to a magnet, because that’s what happens. The ash drifts down and spreads out, forming a neat little line connecting the point where she stands to the end of the line.

She stares.

“You have _no_ idea what you’re capable of,” someone says, and the voice echoes in her head as she steps backwards slowly, taking everything in, the fully complete ash line, the club that she just protected and…

“Lydia,” someone calls and this time it’s not in her head. “Lydia.” The tone is almost sing-song.

…and she turns.

And everything fades.

 

Scott slips out of the building, the sounds dying almost immediately. He slips away through the shadows, mind racing. He needs to check Derek and Boyd are okay, and then he needs to check Lydia and he needs to be in too many places at the same time.

‘Do you trust me?’ Stiles had asked, and Scott really wishes he did just so that he could maybe worry a little less. But he’ll have to check that they don’t end up killing Jackson, he needs to find the kanima master…

A hand catches him on the shoulder and Scott stiffens as Gerard steps out of the shadows. “You should watch where you’re going,” the old hunter smiles thinly.

Scott tenses, feeling cold, “What are you doing here?” he hisses, “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!”

Gerard just laughs, “You think I’m not aware of that? But you’ve been helpful, Scott, and we need to use what we _know_ to discover the _unknowns_. Life is more predictable when you know all the facts…”

“I told you everything!” Scott hisses, “About Jackson! About Derek’s pack. I even joined up, just like you asked. Hell, I even told you about Stiles!”

And how, just how could Scott trust him best friend when there was no way Stiles should trust him?

Not now.

Scott feels like the biggest hypocrite, but he’s not quite got to the stage of _killing people_. Somehow that thought doesn’t make him feel any better.

“Just leave it to us,” Gerard says, calmly, “We’ll sort it out. You get back to your friends and make sure they haven’t been killed by their own idiocy.” He leans back, and Scott shifts, just as something drops to the ground.

Scott scoops it up, “Here,” he says sullenly, “You dropped this.”

Gerard takes it, “Go,” he emphases, and Scott leaves, heart racing.

Gerard didn’t notice. He didn’t even…

He keeps his head down and slips off, feeling Gerard’s gaze on his back.

 

Around the corner Allison is standing ice-still, her hand pressed over her mouth. The bricks press into her uncomfortably, but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change what she just heard.

She slips away before her grandfather - no, Gerard, he’s not family to her - appears around and sees her there, eavesdropping. She heads for the room the wolves were supposed to take Jackson too, because she can’t process this now. She can’t think…. She can’t…

Erica jumps when she pushes through the door and she freezes, hands up, “It’s just me!” she says, heart still racing.

“Where’s Scott?” Isaac asks from beyond Erica. Stiles is pacing a little ways over in front of Jackson.

“I couldn’t find him,” her heart is racing so fast she knows they can’t hear the lie. They can’t hear the panic and Stiles shoots her a weird look, but makes no comment on the scent of fear and betrayal pouring off her.

Because there is an insidious little voice in her mind asking ‘did Scott tell the hunters? Was he the reason her dad and grandfather were here tonight? Was Scott the reason the whole plan was going to fail, and then he had the audacity to blame it on her?’

Stiles makes a face as he pulls his headphones off his ears. His hair is sweat ruffled and spikier than usual. “You okay?” he asks her, “Your heart is racing.”

“Yeah,” she nods and steels herself, slipping into a different mind zone, a different focus point. She stalks forwards to stand beside where Stiles is crouched in front of Jackson, “Is he out?”

“Yeah,” Isaac steps forwards to stand the other side of her, “You could poke him with a stick and all he’d do is…” Jackson lurches, head tilting and eyes flashing open.

They all leap back in surprise, but there is no more movement.

“For the love of god,” Stiles is breathing heavily and he failed to stand, instead sprawling awkwardly along the floor in startled bewilderment, “Don’t say shit like that.”

“I thought the ketamine was meant to knock him out?” Erica says, anxiously, “Why’s he moving around? Is that normal?” a sneer works its way into her voice but it’s one of fear.

“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugs, “Scott never got the chance to ketamine me.” Isaac and Erica frown at him and he shrugs, “What?”

Allison steps closer again, “Well we’ve got Jackson. Now we just need to get whoever is controlling him.”

“I’m here.”

Jackson’s mouth opens, but it’s not his voice that comes out.

It is, but it isn’t. It’s his voice but there is another voice on top, overlaid, deep and distorted and it sounds familiar, but Allison can’t place it. She frowns, just as it speaks again, using the knocked out Jackson as a mouth piece. “I’m right here with you.”

He’s like an empty puppet, Allison thinks, hands over her mouth as she steps backwards in shock.

Stiles on the other hand steps forwards, “Jackson?” he queries, “Is that you?”

“Us,” the voice echoes from Jackson’s mouth, “We’re all here.”

“Are you the one killing people?”

“We are the one killing murderers.”

Stiles snorts. “So what, you think that makes it justified? Let me tell you something, dude, killing people, no matter what you think…” the wolf’s face twists, “Is never justified.” He finishes, sadly, and Allison meets his gaze for a moment.

The kanima’s face twists, scales beginning to flash up Jackson’s neck, “They deserved it.”

Allison shakes her head, “One of them was a mother. A new mother with a one day old baby. That child is never going to know her parents now because of you. Tell me what did that small family do to deserve death?” she pauses, and the eyes slide over to her. For a moment they are Jackson’s blue, and then he blinks and they are a sick coloured yellow, “We’ve got a book that tells us you can only go after murderers,” she steps forwards, standing shoulder to shoulder with Stiles. Erica and Isaac lurk in the background, “So tell us - who did they kill?”

“Me.”

 

Scott ducks around the building, and he can’t see Lydia anywhere but there is a fine trail of black dust that he doesn’t go anywhere near. He can hear the sound of howls and guns and he heads towards that when there is a screech and a car swerves into view.

He squints, trying to see who it is but the headlights blind him. He covers his eyes, peering at the car, waiting for it to slow down.

It doesn’t.

It keeps going straight forwards and by the time it occurs to Scott to move out of the way it’s already crashed straight into him.

 

“What?” Isaac steps forwards from where he had been lurking at the back of the room, “No offense, but you don’t look very dead to me.”

Stiles laughs, “That’s still… not a very good excuse,” he looks like he’s trying not to flinch from the scales creeping their way onto Jackson’s skin. “They killed you! So? I’ve heard better reasons for murder. Hell, I’ve used better reasons myself and there are better ways than using poor old Jackson to kill off anyone who has pissed you off. So what are you going to do, huh, if you don’t have Jackson anymore?”

Jackson’s neck tilts to one side yellow eyes dilating.

“Stiles,” Allison’s voice is tempered, “What are you suggesting?”

“What’s a kanima master…” Stiles says, not looking at her, “If there’s no kanima?” and he holds out one hand, claws out. “It wouldn’t exactly be the first time I’ve had to use these,” he shrugs, casually, and Allison relaxes, shooting Erica a cautious glance to get the other girl to stay back. Because Stiles isn’t going to kill Jackson. At the moment he’s just threatening to. “You know…” Stiles’ tone is almost conversational, “I once helped a psychopath kill people,” he shrugs, “I kind of enjoyed it too. Do you know that I was ripped out my chemistry teacher’s throat? To be fair he was a rubbish chemistry teacher and I was half brainwashed, half blackmailed and half convinced I was doing the right thing, but I still enjoyed it. So is that why you’re killing people? Is that why…?”

“You know why I do this.” The voice sneers, “They need to die. Harris’ death was no loss and neither is theirs.”

Stiles glances sideways, frowning. He meets Allison’s gaze and she nods, because she’s understood too. The murderer know who Stiles’ chemistry teacher is.

That means it’s one of their classmates. Someone who’s gone to Beacon Hills, known Adrian Harris.

And that?

That’s narrowed the list of potential kanima master suspects right down.

“I think we should give him more ketamine,” Erica is shoving Isaac in the shoulder, as Jackson’s one hand begins to creep up. Stiles stands, grabbing Allison and pulling her back, “Isaac?” Erica asks again.

He holds up an empty bottle, “There… uh… isn’t any more.”

“You used the whole thing?” Allison whispers, “Okay, new plan. Get out.” And as if on cue, the kanima snarls.

Erica gets the door and they pour out, Stiles over-stepping by about a metre before he turns and flails back, practically leaning on Isaac to get the door shut. For a werewolf he’s surprisingly clumsy. Allison leaves the werewolves to hold the door, looking about for something to hold it closed…

The wall shatters to her right and she screams slightly, hand going for the knife in her belt, but the kanima is fast. He darts out and vanishes into the night, and Allison turns back to see the others, still pressed to the door and faces pale.

“Well that plan didn’t work,” she pulls a face.

“No shit.”

 

Scott wakes up, lying on a table. He’s dazed, still trying to get his bearings when Victoria Argent steps into view. Her face is sharp, her eyes cold as she stares down at him. “Good,” she says, tone stiff, “You’re awake.” She places something on the table next to him. “You won’t be much longer.”

He cranes his neck, blinking at the device. He’s not sure what it is, but as he stares Victoria reaches over and presses down on a button. Something flares to life and a white smoke begins to drift out. The scent is bitter sweet, and it makes Scott’s lungs itch.

He’s only felt that once before. When he and Stiles pulled out a wolfsbane rope from around Laura Hale’s body, Stiles had dropped the rope in his car as if it had burnt him. They had made it half a mile down the road before Stiles had to stop so they could both climb out. Their lungs had itched and they were coughing like mad, their eyes flaring a wolf-yellow.

Both their eyes had been gold back then.

It’s wolfsbane, in the smoke. Victoria is talking, telling him about it, but he’s not listening.

“What are you doing?” Scott squints, trying to understand, but the wolfsbane infused vapour is already working. It’s making him lethargic and slow. He already took a pretty bad tumble from the car. He’s dazed enough that she doesn’t seem to be threatened by him, leaning over him and smirking.

“Oh, Scott,” she croons, and she’s not related to Kate by blood, and Scott thinks that both Argent woman are just as dangerous. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m killing you.” she waves the vapour around, then steps back, probably not wanting to get a whiff of it. It’s toxic to wolves, but it’s also toxic to humans. Scott knows that hunters have worked out a dosage that doesn’t kill humans but will kill a wolf; enough that he’s wary of ever eating anything the Argents cook him again.

But Victoria seems wary of getting too close to the poison gas. “It will look like an accident,” she says, “Your school files show that you have a pretty severe case of asthma. Nobody will be surprised that you had a sudden attack. And you couldn’t get to your inhaler in time.” She sighs, “Unfortunate, but accidents do happen. Especially to lone wolves. They never survive on their own.”

She steps backwards and Scott reaches out, for the machine, for the wolfsbane infuser, but his reach falls short and all he succeeds in doing is falling off the table with a thump. When he looks up it is to a door closing and he’s left alone, lumps cramping up.

She’s right, Scott thinks. It’s just like an asthma attack.

And what a horrible way to die, choking from a disease you don’t even have anymore.

 

“Lydia.”

The rooms is empty. Dark. She stands there, and in front of her there is a shape standing in the shadows. He’s facing her, but all his features are cast into shadow, distorted. The burns look almost worse that way, the way all his skin has blistered off. His eyes however…

His eyes glitter, whole and mad.

“Why are you here?” her voice wavers, “What do you want with me?”

“Can’t you guess?” he shifts, light sliding over his face. He’s the Peter she’s familiar with, older and more terrible, the burnt wreck his body was the last time she saw him.

There are even four deep claw marks across his neck. Black bile drips down like tears from them and he smiles.

“You’re clever, Lydia. Figure it out.”

In her fingers is a flower, purple and hooded petals, spread down. “I can’t,” she tells him, staring down at the flower, “I won’t. Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I need you,” he steps forwards, “Just as much as you need me.” And she looks up. His skin is knitting back together, becoming whole until the skin is just dirt encrusted, pale and flawless, not a burn to be seen. “The full moon in March…” he says suddenly, “Do you know why they call it the Worm Moon? It’s because all the worms crawl out of the frozen, frost encrusted earth as it thaws.” He smirks, a quick wry twist of his lips, “It kind of feels like a rebirth, doesn’t it?”

“That’s my birthday,” Lydia realises, “The full moon on Wednesday is my birthday.” She tilts her head at him, stepping back as he steps forwards.

“Oh, Lydia,” he sighs, “I thought we’d gotten past this stage.”

“Why should I do anything for you?” she snaps, but in her fingers the flower is still held, tightly as if it’s the last line to her sanity.

It might well be.

Peter just laughs, “Because you’re Lydia Martin.” He says it like that’s reason in itself. And in a way it kind of is. Lydia knows what will happen if she does what he wants. She knows it will stop these visions, these hallucinations she’s been having ever since she was bitten. It will all go away.

“Why am I immune?” she asks him. It’s more demanding, but Peter still laughs at her like she’s a little girl asking the grown-ups things she isn’t permitted to know. “You knew, didn’t you, when you bit me? You know I was immune. You lied to Stiles and told him I’d turn into a wolf. So you know what it means.” She isn’t asking questions and Peter doesn’t give an answer, merely tilts his head in acknowledgment, “Tell me what you know,” Lydia states.

Peter just shrugs, “I can do that. It would help if I was a little bit more that a disembodied spirit, but that? That’s easy. Is that your only demand?”

She swallows. It’s a benefit, for sure. Along with not seeing Peter everywhere she turns, she’ll get answers. But still she hesitates.

And the wolf is impatient, “We can always do this the hard way,” he sighs, “Nobody has to get hurt,” he sighs, glancing down at the floor. Lydia follows his gaze, spotting the ash line trail past her.

At her feet it is broken. She’s stepped on it, knocked it aside, and it’s split, right down the middle.

And she’s suddenly terrified. Because she has no idea if that was her, and she had broken it without realising it, or if it was Peter, and can Peter control her? He can already get into her head, make her see things. That? That terrifies her, because what if he can control her too, against her will?

She wonders vaguely if this is how Stiles felt. If this is what he felt when he looked at his hands afterwards and saw the blood?

And _god_ , wouldn’t this just spite him? She feels a cruel vindictive sense of pleasure that if she does this - she and Stiles - they’d be even. Stiles broke her trust once and let Peter bite her. Now she could do the same and bring Peter back to the living.

Peter smiles as if he knows what she’s thinking.

“Fine,” she decides, because the choices here are really only illusions anyway. “Tell me what I need to do.”

 

Victoria slips along the building, satisfied that she’s finally done. She’s done with that dratted animal dating her daughter; be it secret pining or real meetings, it doesn’t matter.

He’s dealt with. He’s gone. Allison has no distractions and can focus. On her school work, on becoming the best huntress ever and eventually Allison will lead her family to victory.

“Excuse me?” someone calls out, tone polite. There is a British tilt to his voice and it makes her pause, turning around and plastering on a smile towards the man strolling towards her. He walks in the shadow of the building, and she can barely make out his slight form, broad shoulders and dark glasses.

“Can I help you?” she asks, raising her chin up. The man smiles, lips curling.

“Yes,” he says, “I think you can. You see I was looking for the new Alpha.”

She steps backwards, going for the small gun she always carries at the small of her back, but the man moves faster. He knocks her hand away, and his eyes bleed a deep, blood red as he grabs her throat, lifting her effortlessly. She kicks out, uselessly.

“You smell like wolfsbane,” he tuts, “Been trying to catch lone wolves unaware, have we? Now, now… you really don’t want to be doing that.” And her eyes widen as his grip tightens, and one her flailing arms goes for the knife in her heel…

He drops her, and she barely has time to try and move than something sharp sinks into her shoulder and she cries out, despite all her training. The man with red eyes steps backwards, and - god - it feels like he took a chunk out of her shoulder. Blood dribbles down his mouth as he smiles.

“There,” he says, “Now the hunters and the wolves know we’re here.”

 

“Where is he?”

Stiles, Allison, Isaac and Erica burst out of the club, looking around wildly, but there is no sign of Jackson anywhere.

“Dammit!” Allison looks in near hysterics, “This is all my fault. My family…” her face twists and she shakes her head suddenly. Violently. “No,” she says, “No, I didn’t tell them. This isn’t… where the hell is Scott…?”

Stiles can’t identify the look in her eye, but then Derek and Boyd are limping up. “Are you okay?” Erica steps forwards, “We heard gunshots…” the beta freezes suddenly, glancing down at the line of mountain ash around the building.

Derek looks frantic, “What happened? We only just lost the hunters but… where’s Scott? Where’s Jackson?” he stares down at the line, and there is something in his gaze that just makes Stiles’ stomach sink. He steps forwards towards the alpha, and reaches out one hand.

There’s nothing. Stiles doesn’t know what he was expecting, but there is no resistance and he steps over it, as easily as if it wasn’t even there. “I thought Lydia…”

“She was…” Allison finishes, “Something went wrong.” And Stiles and the other wolves follow her gaze to where there is a scuffed mark through the ash.

It didn’t work, Stiles thinks, and Isaac and Erica are exchanging a terrified glance. Because it didn’t work but now the person controlling the kanima knows who they are. He knows they’re out to get him. He knows they’re coming.

Good, Stiles thinks. He’s going to rip that bastard’s throat out himself.

“Come on,” Allison grabs at Stiles’ sleeve, “We need to get out of here, we need to…” she is cut off by a pain filled howl.

Derek’s head lifts, and he takes several seconds to contemplate the noise, to recognise it. “That’s Scott.” He says, “Something’s wrong…” and he makes to step over the broken line. Allison and Stiles however aren’t there anymore. At the first note of the howl, they had exchanged a single glance, because they knew instantly who it was.

Wolves howl to signal their location to the rest of the pack.

Stiles tries not to think too much what it means about him, Scott and Allison, but just bolts away, the hunter’s girl on his heels. He rounds the building, heading towards a little office or something, built onto the outside. The door is closed, but there is gas seeping out from the gap underneath. Stiles reaches the door, flinching back at the wolfsbane, but then Allison is there, hammering on the metal.

“Scott!” she shouts, “Scott!”

Stiles holds his breath as he throws his full weight at the door, twisting the door handle. It snaps clean off and he tumbles through, just in time for acid to meet his lungs.

It’s not acid. But the wolfsbane in the air feels that way as he rolls, coughing violently. “Get Scott,” he chokes out, Allison slipping over him to where their friend lies limply, barely stirring as she reaches him.

Stiles’ eyes are streaming from the poison in the air, and he staggers upright, almost falling. He has no idea where Scott even found the strength to howl, because he can’t even walk straight, and he trips over his own feet, falling outside and sucking in clean air.

Allison appears moments later, half dragging Scott. His friend is so, so still that for a terrible moment, Stiles thinks he’s too late.

He drags himself upright, “Put him down here.” He tells her, voice scratchy and hoarse. He leans over, and he can hear a pulse, weak but present. “Scott! Scott!”

Allison is the one to pinch Scott’s nose and lean forwards, breathing clean air into the wolf’s lungs. Stiles kneels on the cold concrete, waiting for his friend’s eyes to flicker open. “Scott!” Allison calls out, “Scott, wake up!”

“Come on…” Stiles begs, “You don’t get to do this. You can’t just leave me…” there is a sob in his voice, because nothing has gone right tonight. Nothing. Their plan, for once sound, had fallen to little tiny pieces, “Scott! Come on you bastard!” there is a snarl to his words.

“We’ll get him to Deaton’s!” Derek appears, sans betas, “Get him to my car.”

The alpha moves forwards to help, just as with a shuddering breath Scott’s eyes fly open. He reaches out, hands clawing at Allison’s sleeve.

“Scott? Scott!” Allison looks so relieved for a second, “Oh thank god… are you… are you okay? What happened?”

Scott’s voice is weak and his eyelids flutter down, “Your…” he coughs before he can get the words out.

“What?” Allison looks confused and Stiles stares at her, then down at Scott, “Who did this?” she asks again, clearly, “Who did this to you?”

And this time when Scott speaks, it is clearly audible. “Your mom,” his voice sounds like its grating over rock, “Your mom did.”

“No,” Allison recoils backwards, away from Scott. Derek looks torn, and Stiles gapes. “No, you’re wrong…” it looks like Allison has just been punched in the face, the expression she wears is one of pure shock and hurt, “You’re lying… my mom… she wouldn’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Scott’s eyes flicker closed weakly.

“Help me get him to Deaton’s,” Derek lifts one of Scott’s arms over his shoulder, “Stiles, Allison…”

Allison is still looking distraught, standing now and backing away, “No,” she shakes her head, “I can’t… I have to… what am I meant to do?” she pleads, but Stiles doesn’t know the answer. Scott blinks open his eyes, weakly, and it looks like that small action is a giant struggle. He stares at them, and he looks just as lost.

“Are either of you going to help?” Derek demands.

“I can’t,” Allison says, “I need to…  need to go… my family… but I don’t… I don’t have a car… Lydia…”

“I’ll drive you,” Stiles volunteers, “I don’t know where Lydia’s gone…”

“Fine,” Derek growls out, “Go. I’ll get Scott to Deaton’s. Don’t get kill by the Argents,” he snarls at Stiles, straightening with a weak Scott hanging onto Derek’s shoulder.

“Allison,” Scott stares, looking so fragile in that moment, “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Allison’s face is streaked with tears, and she turns away. Stiles glances at Scott at Derek.

“Will you be okay?” he asks, more of Derek, but Scott answers.

He is still staring after Allison looking heartbroken, “Look after her,” he whispers. Stiles nods, turning and following after the huntress.


	15. Collision

Stiles pulls up outside the Argent house a while later. The pair took their time, Allison silent, with tears streaming down her face. She’s grateful that Stiles didn’t ask questions, because she has no idea how she’s feeling.

Her mother tried to kill Scott. Tried and almost succeeded.

Scott is working with Gerard. He may have been feeding information to him that led to the evening being a total disaster.

And something is up with Lydia. She just vanished on them all at the club, and Allison should probably be more concerned but both their phones had gone off fifteen minutes ago with a text. A text. Lydia had woken up somewhere, unconscious, but fine. She had no idea what happened with the mountain ash line. Did they find out anything?

Neither of them had bothered to send a reply.

The lights are on in her house, and there are cars outside. They probably belong to the other hunters. Stiles had wanted to park down the street, but Allison didn’t want him to. She knows it’s dangerous, but she appreciates that he parks the jeep outside, in plain view. She’s making a statement here.

She’s not going to follow her family’s code.

After all, it’s not like any of them follow it anyway.

“Wait,” Stiles reaches out for her arm when she makes to climb out the car, “Will you…” he pauses, “Are you going to be okay?” he asks.

She relaxes back into the seat of the jeep, sighing. “No,” she says, and that’s completely honest.

“Do you need me to sneak into your room later?” she’s flattered that he offers.

“It would be safer if you didn’t.”

“Do you want Scott…?”

“I don’t want to talk to Scott.” She whispers, because she’s afraid. She loves Scott. She loves her mom. And she is afraid that she’s going to have to choose between them.

She can’t. She loves both of them.

But she knows she’s going to have to pick a side, and until then, she wants to stay away from both of them.

Stiles’ gaze snaps around, and Allison peers around him, seeing that her front door has opened. Her dad stands framed in the doorway, and he’s glaring at the car. Stiles gulps audibly, and Allison reaches out, one hand on his arm.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” she whispers, “Or Scott. They can’t just… there are rules, and I won’t let anybody fall prey to the loopholes in them.”

Stiles glances back at her, “Take care,” he tells her.

“You too,” she reaches for the door-handle and hesitates, “I…” she stops, fingers curling, “Gerard knows,” she settles for. She can’t tell Stiles about Scott. Not now. “Gerard knows who the kanima is. He knows who is in Derek’s pack.” She glances up at Stiles, “He knows about you and Scott.” She sees Stiles’ eyes widen, “I didn’t tell him,” she says, and Stiles will be able to hear the honesty in her voice, “I didn’t say a word, I swear, but he knows. So be careful. Okay?”

“Allison!” her dad yells from the doorway.

“Be careful,” she asks him again, “Promise me you’ll be careful. And… look after Scott?”

“I’ll be fine,” Stiles says, “Now go, before your dad marches out here with a gun and tries to shoot me. Again.”

She opens the jeep door and slides out, grabbing her jacket and closing it. She stalks around the front, heading to her door. She pauses obstinately to turn and wave to Stiles. Stiles just nods, turning on the jeep’s engine which makes a pathetic noise before starting. Allison thinks it might be about to die right there and then on her driveway, but then it starts and he pulls away.

“Allison,” her dad’s voice is like ice, “We need to talk.”

She spins around, head held high. “About what?” she shrugs, stepping past him. There are hunters in the kitchen, dabbing at bruises they must have received from Derek and Boyd. Allison turns away, and she catches sight of her mother, sitting in the living room.

Her mother is wiping antiseptic onto a bloody wound in her shoulder. A wound in the jagged and terrible shape of a set of wolf fangs.

Allison feels all her breath leave her body.

Her mother’s been bitten.

 

Stiles gets home to his dad asleep on the sofa, the television still playing. There is a coyote curled up over his dad’s toes. He tries to sneak in without waking either, but the front door clicks and Malia stirs, blinking sleepily at him. She lets out a little huff upon seeing him, and shifts, his dad stirring as the weight on his feet moves.

“Stiles?” the Sheriff yawns. For the first time Stiles notices he’s in his uniform.

“Did you have to go out?” he says, worried, suddenly. “Was there another murder?”

His dad looks grim, “They phoned. They’ve got things handled, but they might need me to pop by, so I got ready.” He turns over on the couch, feet sliding to the floor and Malia whining as she slides off his legs, “What happened?” John asks, “I take it by your face things didn’t go well?”

Stiles wordlessly shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “You were right. We should have… we can’t handle this. Not by ourselves.” He sinks down on the couch, “Scott almost died,” he whispers, “Allison’s mom poisoned him with wolfsbane. And we didn’t find anything. Nothing.” He glances at the paper strewn on the other sofa, “What about you?” he asks.

“Me and Malia spent a relaxing evening at home. Eating pizza. Isn’t that right?” the Sheriff asks the coyote, who just stares back, “Well she enjoyed it at the time,” he sighs.

“Malia and I,” Stiles corrects his dad’s grammar, “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah. The first murders were all in the same class of 2006. They had the same teacher as well: Adrian Harris.”

Stiles freezes, mid-reaching for the 2006 year book where it is open on the table, “But he’s dead.” He doesn’t look at his dad. He thinks back, because the person controlling the kanima knows the teacher. They know the teacher and they know the pupils in his old class. There is an awkward pause and he glances up to see his dad looking uncomfortable, “What is it? Dad?”

“The girl who was killed tonight - the concert promoter… Kara Simmons.”

Stiles picks up the year book and stares at the pictures there. He scans the names. “She’s not going to be here, is she?” he stops looking after a few seconds.

His dad shakes his head. Curled up between them Malia looks from one to the other with a confused expression on her little coyote face. “She doesn’t fit the pattern,” he sighs, “So we’re back to square one.”

Stiles flicks through the year book, because maybe the girl is in another class that she shared with the others. Maybe she shared a different teacher and there is another link between them all. Maybe…

“Wait… stop…” his dad reaches out, turning back a few pages, “Isn’t that Lahey?”

Stiles glances over the page, because his dad is right. Lahey has made the 2006 year book. He’s the captain of the swim team and…

“Dad,” Stiles whispers, “Look at the swim team.”

 

“What happened?” Allison sits next to her mother as her dad dabs antiseptic on the bite wound, “Mom…?” Victoria hisses at the sting as Chris finishes up.

“It should be okay,” he says, “It’s not that deep…”

“It will heal,” Allison asks, voice nervous, “It _will_ heal, won’t it?”

“We don’t know.” Chris leans back, packing everything away into the medicine kit, “We can’t know. Not for sure…”

Allison frowns, looking between her dad and her mom. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“It’s an alpha bite,” Gerard says from the doorway, “You know what it means. And you know what has to happen. I’m afraid the prognosis on this one is dire.”

She doesn’t even look at Gerard. She just stares at her mother, because she’s read her family’s journals. She knows what tradition depicts should happen if a hunter is bitten but her mom…. She wouldn’t… she would never, would she?

“Mom,” she leans forwards, “Tell me it’s going to be okay. Tell me to be strong or… or…” she bites her lip, “Tell me you didn’t try to kill him.”

“What?” Chris frowns, “Victoria, what is she talking about?”

Her mother is tight lipped and she hasn’t said a thing so far, but now she leans away from her husband’s hands, “I want to speak to Allison. Alone.” Her voice is cold and she glares daggers at Gerard standing in the doorway, “Just for a little while.”

Chris looks pained, “But…”

“It’s okay,” Allison says quickly, “Go.”

Chris moves off for the doorway, and closes the door. Allison can hear him and Gerard talking in low voices and she knows what they’re talking about.

“Tell me what happened,” Allison demands of her mother again, “Everything,” she says.

Victoria purses her lips, “You obviously know what happened,” she sneers, “You were there. You pulled him out, didn’t you? He’s not dead. God, Allison, I was doing what you couldn’t. I was helping you…”

“You almost killed Scott!” she snaps, and suddenly she can’t sit on the sofa next to her mom anymore, “You had the wolfsbane filter and everything. You _planned_ this!” Her mother doesn’t deny this, “Why?” Allison demands, “Why try to kill Scott?”

“He’s a distraction,” her mother leans forwards, “He makes you _weak_.”

“He makes me strong,” Allison argues, “Scott is the reason I have something to fight for!”

Her mother looks angry, “He’s an animal,” she sneers, “A monster.”

“Then what are you?”

Victoria looks floored for a moment, unable to come up with a reply. Her top has slipped back up, and now it clings to the bleeding flesh. It looks uncomfortable but Victoria makes no move to adjust it.

Allison sighs, suddenly, all the fight draining out of her. “I can talk to Derek,” she says, “He can help you control it,” she gestures at the bite, “If it was going to kill you, you’d probably be dead already.”

Her mother shakes her head, “I don’t want it,” she snaps, “I don’t need anything.”

“Why not? You… you’ve been bitten. You’re a werewolf… you’ll turn and you need to know how to cope. It’s not the end of the world. You can live with it, you just need to know how.”

“You think I want to be one of them?” Victoria sneers, “You think I want to be a snivelling rabid dog?” her tone is condescending and cruel and Allison flinches, because those are her friends, “I thought you were better than this,” Victoria sighs, “Better than them. But you… you’re not. You crawl back here stinking of them. That wolf would have walked you right to the door is you let him,” she sneers, “Allison…”

“No,” she shakes her head, “I don’t want to hear it,” her voice is cold, “I don’t care. They’re my friends. They stood with me when I still didn’t even know what our family did as a living. I’m not just abandoning them!”

“They’re going to get you hurt!” her mother accuses, “That’s what they do! They’ll lose control, because that is who they are.” She yanks the collar of her top down so Allison can see the deep red bite mark. Allison winces, but her mother continues, “See?” she gestures, “They’ll be the death of you!”

“No,” Allison shakes, “This family… _that_ will be the death of me. It will be the death of you too if you let it. There is a way we can work through this. Take it.”

But Victoria looks stony, “You’re a teenage girl,” she snaps, “You’re not a leader yet, and you’re not making any decisions here. Go to your room.”

“Mom, just promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

“Allison…”

“Please…”

“Go to your room!” Victoria snaps.

She goes. The door slams closed, and she blinks back tears.

She’s not weak. She’s strong.

She stays composed until she reaches her room whereupon she breaks down and cries.

 

Allison probably hates him, Scott thinks sadly. He should have just kept quiet, he shouldn’t have said anything.

But he had and now he couldn’t do anything. He longed to text her or something, fingers twitching and he would, later, when Derek wasn’t sitting opposite him, judging him with those eyebrows.

“Are you feeling better?” Derek tries and fails to be conversational. “We’re going to need a new plan for next time we try and trap Jackson.”

“There is going to be a next time?” Scott raises one eyebrow, “And I thought you wanted to kill him?”

Derek just shrugs, “It appears that we can’t. He heals too fast. Any drug lasts about half as long as it should. He’s getting stronger and stronger and with the full moon on Wednesday he’s going to just get more powerful. To be honest, Scott, I don’t know how we’re going to stop him.”

“What you need to do,” Deaton appears in the doorway, “Is to stop the master. And you might be a bit closer with that than you were before…” he steps asides to reveal Derek’s betas shifting nervously in the doorway. Isaac steps forwards.

“Actually,” Isaac hovers, just in front of Erica. Boyd is nowhere to be seen, “Stiles found something out. The kanima master knows who Adrian Harris is.”

“And?” Scott frowns, “So does everybody who went to Beacon Hills High.”

“So if Stiles told a random stranger about how he hated ‘his chemistry teacher’ with no names, they’d be able to guess it was Adrian Harris?” Isaac asks, “Also,” he waves his phone about, “Apparently they had a vendetta against the 2006 swim team. My dad was the coach, and all the other murders were team members.” He shrugs and glances back up, “Stiles just sent me a text,” he says, when everybody stares at him blankly, “We have each other’s numbers from when he and I used to try and sort out Coach’s lacrosse strategies.” He shrinks back slightly with anxiety.

Derek doesn’t actually appear to care, “Then you need to find out who it is,” he tells Scott, “Because once we know that, we can actually do something.”

“And Jackson?”

“He’ll be at Lydia’s party, right?” Isaac asks, “I mean… everybody goes to Lydia’s party. She is throwing one this year, right?”

“That’s if anyone shows up,” Erica snorts, “Apparently she’s not very interesting now she’s not seeing Jackson and she’s been seen with you and us.”

“What about you?” Scott asks, looking at Derek and glancing at the two betas, “What are you going to do?”

“Fix it,” Derek grits his teeth, “I’m the one who bit him. This is my fault.”

“No it’s not,” Scott argues, “Jackson is the one who determines what shape he turns into. You merely… flicked the switch.”

“We’re going to prepare for the full moon,” Derek tells Scott, finally meeting his gaze, “Isaac and I have some meetings about getting him emancipated properly.”

“Because until then Derek’s my legal guardian for some strange reason and nobody wants that. Least of all Derek,” Isaac grins, but it falters when Derek stares at him.

With a sigh Derek continues, “Go home, Scott. Look after your friends. Because the full moon’s coming and with the way things are going, I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a rough one.”

 

“I’m just saying, are you sure the party is a good idea?”

“When is anything a good idea, Stiles?”

“And what happened Friday? Allison said you were fine, there was an ash line around the whole building and you weren’t there. It got broken as a consequence.”

“I told you. I don’t remember.”

Stiles sighs, and leans back against the sofa situated in Lydia’s living room. Her mom’s on a business trip or something for the spring break, so Lydia is at home alone.

Stiles is worried about her. She seems distant, but he’s not getting through to her. It feels like she’s keeping something from him, like she’s not telling him something important. Her story about Friday is flimsy, and the one thing Stiles had noticed is that there is no head wound, no nick of claws or anything. Lydia claims to have awoken from unconsciousness but she wasn’t knocked out. She’s too perfect, too pristine for that, her body perfectly healthy.

Her mind on the other hand…

“Hey, how are your hallucinations?” he asks, and she freezes, gaze growing slack and he thinks he’s hit the jackpot.

That’s when Lydia’s door bursts open.

“Hey,” Allison stands there, looking stressed, “Thank goodness you’re home and sorry for just bursting in, but I…” she looks worried, and Stiles hasn’t seen her since Friday. It’s Monday now, and they’re on their spring break so there has been no opportunity to see anyone. Stiles had had to invite himself around to Lydia’s house to speak with her, and when he’s not looking through the school yearbooks for potential kanima master candidate with his dad, he’s trying to figure out how to get Malia back to human before the full moon.

“What’s wrong?” Lydia stands, moving towards Allison with a concerned look on her face.

Allison looks torn, “Nothing,” she shakes her head, “Well yes…” she has a bag on a shoulder, and Stiles wonders what is in it. He can smell the sharp scent of mint and soap, along with laundry detergent. It’s not weapons, for once, it’s belongings. “Yes,” Allison moves over to the living room, sinking down next to Stiles on the couch, “I can’t stay at home at the moment. I need somewhere to sleep. Do you mind if…?”

“Of course not!” Lydia grins, looking happy, but Stiles notices her grin is strained, “My mom’s on a trip,” she says with a one shoulder shrug, “So I’d love to have you stay.”

“I’d offer my house,” Stiles gestures, “But I currently have a coyote living there and I don’t think your family would approve. Is that…” he pauses, “Is that what the problem is?”

“What? No,” Allison laughs, “It’s something else. Just… stuff with my mom is kind of tense and my dad keeps telling me to understand, and Gerard keeps sprouting off all this crap about the code…” her face twists, “I’m scared,” she admits, “I just need… I need to spend some time away from them.”

“Well that’s perfect timing then,” Lydia smirks, “I need help picking out dresses for my party.” She grabs Allison’s hand, tugging her towards the stairs.

“I’ll just see myself out then?” Stiles is left there, standing in the living room. “Oh, and hey, can I bring Malia on Wednesday? My dad is working and I can’t leave her at home. The betas will be busy with the full moon…”

Lydia pulls a face, “What about her and the full moon?” she asks, as if Stiles hasn’t considered it.

He shrugs, “I don’t _know_ , I haven’t exactly had a lot of coyotes who may go rabid on a full moon, living at my house before!”

The strawberry-blonde just considers it, “Fine,” she decides, “But you’re looking after her. Party’s at 10. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye,” Stiles says, and the pair of girls vanish up the stairs. He sighs and heads out, beginning to trudge down the drive towards his jeep.

It’s only when he’s sitting in the warmth of his car, the engine roaring, that he recalls that Lydia never answered his question. She’s neatly avoided it with Allison’s arrival.

It looked like Stiles wasn’t the only one still hallucinating Peter Hale.

 

“This,” Derek dumps out the equipment that he’d rescued from his family’s basement, “Is for you,” he’s decided to give Erica the headband, because she has a higher pain tolerance. The chains and cuffs he thinks will be best for Boyd and Isaac. “You get those,” he tells them, as he collects what he needs out of the ash stained chest.

Isaac leans over, making critical comments and stupid remarks about everything. Now he’s examining the mark on the lid of the chest, “What is that?” he asks.

“It’s a triskele,” Boyd speaks up from where he is reading a book in the corner of the warehouse. The teenagers treat the place like a hang-out. Boyd doesn’t have much in the way of friends though, that’s why Derek picked him. He doesn’t have much in the way of family either. A younger sister who was kidnapped when Boyd was young, and an elderly grandmother who doesn’t have many years left in her.

Erica on the other hand has two healthy and working parents. Their problem is that they don’t understand and Erica’s not willing to explain. Erica’s not that kind of person. “What does it mean?” she frowns at Derek.

“Whatever you want,” Boyd slams his book closed, “The three arms mean whatever is important to you. Mother, father, child. Past, present, future…”

“Alpha, beta, omega,” Derek finishes, “Being in a spiral reminds us that any one of us can fall from one to another, or alternatively rise up.”

“What if it’s not a spiral,” Erica suggests, “What if it’s a triangle,” she crouches down, tracing a pattern in the brick dust that sits there. A triangle rests at the centre, and she extends the sides with straight, harsh lines that turn violently and then sprawl out, like a spider with three legs.

“You’ve been up to my old house,” Derek accuses her.

Erica looks completely unashamed and she nods. An uneasy shuffling from behind him has Derek sighing, “You too?” he glances at Isaac. The beta nods.

“That was painted on your door.” He says, “What does it mean?”

Derek debates whether or not to tell them, but it’s just another problem that’s been added to a long list. He decides against it, “It means more trouble,” he says, “But we can deal with that later. Now, we need to worry about the full moon.”


	16. Worms

“So,” Stiles takes no notice of the tension that hangs in the air between Allison and Scott. Scott is almost grateful for that when his friend appears, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looks around at Lydia’s empty garden, “The party is a success then, I take it?”

“Doesn’t she usually send out invitations?” Scott frowns.

Allison laughs, “She told me she doesn’t need invitations. Everybody knows about it.”

“Or maybe they don’t,” Scott murmurs, because there is nobody around. Maybe they all saw the full moon hanging in the sky, fat and heavy, and decided it was safer to stay indoors tonight.

“Well,” Allison crosses her arms, looking over Scott’s shoulder, “At least Jackson’s here.”

Scott tenses, but doesn’t turn. He hears footsteps and Lydia appears besides him, “Got anymore great plans, wolf boy?” she asks him, “Jackson’s acting like nothing happened. Like everything is normal. Where’s Derek?”

“With his betas, dealing with the full moon,” Stiles shrugs, “Hey, Lydia, I thought your parties were usually more…” he tries to make a gesture with his hands and fails, “More.” He repeats.

“It’s that coyote you have curled up in my living room.” Lydia’s voice is a deadpan, “She’s scaring them all away.” Stiles glares at her and Scott just glances uneasily towards where Stiles had decided to bring Malia along. It’s a bad idea waiting to happen, but so far the coyote seemed fine, “And didn’t you know?” Lydia smirks, “The party never starts when it’s meant to. When I said the party started at ten, I actually meant, turn up an hour later,” she flaunts off, carting around her punch like it’s a weapon, having already managed to dump some on Scott and Allison. Stiles doesn’t even bother.

“It’s not like I can get drunk,” he argues, when Scott glares at him for being rude, “And, hey… did either of you guys think there was something up with Lydia?”

“Like what?” Allison asks, curiously.

“Something,” Stiles repeats, stubbornly, gaze fixing on the brunette, “Are you okay?”

“Me? I thought we were talking about Lydia. And that? That’s probably just stress from the kanima thing and all.”

“I told you guys about the water thing, right?”

“About how they’re all connected to the swim team?” Scott asks, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, but specifically the 2006 swim team. So we’re looking at teachers and students.”

Scott sighs, running a hand through his hair. There is a loud whoop from outside and there are several more people milling around, and he frowns, because he thinks he might recognise some of those people from the gay club…

“Is that a drag queen?” Allison steps backwards as the woman wanders past, laughing at something. “I didn’t know Lydia had these kinds of friends.”

Scott wonders whether to share his suspicion that they probably met Lydia at the club the other night, and decides not to. Stiles still looks worried though, “Okay, something is definitely up with Lydia,” he says, as someone starts the music playing, “I’m going to go check on her, okay?” He slips off and just like that Scott’s barrier between him and Allison is gone.

He braces himself, about to turn to talk to her, but when he looks Allison’s way, the hunter’s girl is distracted. She’s stepping daintily after the photographer, a thin smile plastered on her face.

Scott sighs and sips his punch. It looks like it’s just him and the alcohol then.

 

“Can I talk to you? Alone.”

She doesn’t quite trust alone though so she leaves the door open. Matt looks awkwardly at it, but makes no move to close it, instead cradling his punch glass to his chest. Allison’s own glass is gone, and Lydia was right, the punch was kind of nice, even if it did have a strange after taste.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks, looking around the room. There is a blanket on the sofa and Allison wonders vaguely where Malia is. She should be there…

“I wanted to ask about you and Scott.”

“Scott?” she looks up, blithely, “What about Scott?”

“I wanted to know…” Matt swallows, looking nervous, “I wanted to know if you two are still a thing. I mean… you tell everyone you’ve broken up, that you’re looking to date, but then you go to a party with me and ditch me after the first five minutes.”

Guilt sinks in her stomach but she ignores it. “I’m not with Scott,” she says.

“Then why are you always with him? Do you…” Matt’s face looks pinched, “Do you have to keep it a secret or something because your little love affair isn’t that hidden…”

“Why do you want to know so much about Scott?” she asks, interrupting him, “Because Scott and I… we’re not…” she tries to think of how to describe it. How Scott’s her weak spot, but he’s also her blind spot. How he makes her weak… and she can’t have that. She can’t be so damn attached to someone that she can’t make the best choices and decisions every time she’s around them.

Matt just looks frustrated, “It’s not Scott I’m interested in,” he snaps, and then freezes, because yeah, that’s pretty much an admittance.

She tries to let him down gently, “I’m sorry,” she shakes her head, “I’m not really looking for a relationship, and you and I… we’re not…” she shakes her head, “We’re not like that.”

“We could be.” He steps forwards, and she steps back, suddenly put off by his enthusiasm. “Couldn’t we at least try?” he suggests, “It’s just… I think you’re so beautiful, that you deserve to be the subject of a perfect photograph. And I just want to try and find that angle that makes your skin glow and...”

And now it’s getting creepy, “No,” she says, “No… I’m not interested. And if you keep throwing yourself at me, then I’m going to have to go the police.”

“Throwing…” Matt quotes her, looking even more frustrated, “I’m not throwing myself at you,” he tries to explain, “I’m not the kind of guy who says something like ‘well, if I can’t have her, no one can’ and I waited, because I knew you and Scott had this thing, and I just thought that now, maybe you’d give me a chance. But obviously I was wrong and you know what, move on, because he doesn’t deserve you.”

“And neither do you,” Allison says, and that much she knows. She pushes past him towards the door, and he latches one hand onto her wrist.

It’s instinctual, training kicking in automatically. Three seconds later, Matt is sprawled on the floor staring up at her in horror, “What the hell…?”

She shudders, stepping back, “Sorry,” she shrugs, “Reflex,” then feeling slightly guilty she steps out into the crowd of people, slipping away. She can’t do this anymore. She should head home, help her mother through the full moon. She hadn’t been able to bear being there in the days leading up to it, not with Gerard talking about Victoria like she was an animal and her mother looking so depressed.

But they would get through it. Her mom was strong, she’d manage the transformation, manage to find an anchor, to control the shift. Allison should be there to help her.

And then later, she can help Scott. She can’t be with Scott, not now, not after everything, but she can help Lydia and Stiles find the kanima’s master, sort all their problems out…

Someone bumps her shoulder and she winces, about to complain but when she turns around, nobody is there. She frowns in confusion but turns around, freezing abruptly when she is confronted by a dark shape stepping out from the shadows.

The figure isn’t turned towards her, instead the shape is focussed on a sprawled Scott, who clutches the banister. “Allison, no…” he pleads.

“Hey!” Allison says, just as the shadowy figure raises a crossbow towards Scott, “Hey!” she shoves someone out of the way and towards the figure, towards Scott, “Leave him alone!” she skids to a halt between the pair, and the crossbow fires.

Something sinks into her gut and she chokes, gaze fixed on the arrow in her stomach, “No…” she breaths, and she looks up, into her own eyes.

It’s her, the figure with the dark hood standing there, crossbow lowering, “God, _look_ at you,” her double sneers, “Trying to defend everyone… but who do you actually save?” The shadow scoffs, “You should be stronger, Allison.” The other Allison’s lips curls, “You should be stronger - more like _Kate_ , more like _Gerard_ , _more like me.”_ And she spreads out her hands, and Allison sees herself, a hunter, standing before her.

The air shimmers and she blinks, choking. She looks down at the arrow in her chest and there is nothing there. She gasps for a moment, pressing her hand to the wound that isn’t present. She looks back up but her double is gone.

Glancing behind her, Scott is gone too, and she wonders if he was ever real.

She wonders if she’s ever really managed to protect him in the first place.

 

Stiles ducks under the awning and almost trips over the coyote who sits there, mewling like some goddamn cat at him. “Malia?” he asks, “What’s wrong?”

She looks agitated, and he sighs, glancing around for Lydia. Spotting her red hair by the punch bowl he scoops up the anxious coyote to his chest and makes for his friend. Malia squirms against his chest but settles down after a little bit, her small heart beating against his.

Lydia sniffs as he wanders over with Malia, “Don’t let her get hair in the punch,” she says.

“Who cares about the punch?” Stiles asks, “Are you okay?” he stares at her, because there is something just that bit off with Lydia.

 _“Maybe it’s the moon,”_ Peter whispers in his ears, _“You know that’s where the word ‘lunatic’ comes from?”_ invisible claws run over Stiles’ spine and he shivers.

And Lydia is smiling there, looking happy and healthy and - yeah - maybe he’s overacting, “I’m fine,” she says, scooping some punch for him, “Here,” she shoves it at him, “Try some.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, “No thanks.” He says, “I can’t get drunk.”

“Then try a sip and compliment my amazing skills,” she shrugs, “Go on.”

Stiles gets the impression she’s not going to let him go until he does, so he shifts Malia to one arm, the coyote barely minding, and sips the punch. It’s fruity. Fruity and something bitter that sits heavily on his tongue. It’s familiar, heavily acidic and has a strong aftertaste. He frowns, dabbing his tongue against his teeth, “It’s interesting,” he says.

Lydia snatches it out of his hands with a sigh, “You have no taste,” she complains.

He’s thinking the same thing about Lydia though, because really that drink tasted foul. He wipes his tongue on the back of his hands, making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. Anything, really, to wash away the taste.

It’s peaceful in the kitchen, the sounds muted. Stiles’ control is getting better slowly, but the world still likes to scream in his ears and this full moon night is no exception. Malia slips out of his grasp, claws clinking on the floor. It echoes and Stiles is dizzy suddenly. He wonders if it’s the moon, high in the sky. The world is fuzzy and he blinks, using the cold marble of the kitchen counter to steady himself.

His hands are shaky as he runs himself a glass of water and he gulps it down, thirsty suddenly. _“Come, Stiles,”_ Peter purrs in his ear, _“The moon is high and full and fat and all we need to do is to paint it red with blood.”_

The glass drops into the sink as Stiles jumps in alarm, not prepared for Peter to be right there, leaning on the countertop next to him. His skin prickles in a hot flush and he growls, angrily, turning away. He tugs off his jacket, sweaty and feeling sick suddenly. He wonders if it’s possible to get sick from the full moon.

He feels like he’s about to puke and he stumbles, trying to locate the bathroom.

There is a slow prickling feeling on the back of his neck, and he glances over his shoulder to see Peter stepping towards him. “ _You know Derek’s going to be busy tonight,”_ his old alpha suggests, as casually as you might like, _“Busy with his rag tag excuse for a pack. He’ll have his guard down and his back turned.”_

“What are you saying?” Stiles knows that talking to his hallucinations isn’t exactly the best thing to do, but he’s just so shattered at the moment it’s not going to hurt him much more.

 _“Don’t you think you’d make a better alpha than Derek?”_ Peter suggests, stepping forwards into Stiles’ personal space.

“No,” he complains, shaking his head, “No, no I don’t want…”

“ _Stiles_.” The voice is smooth, tone soft and almost soothing if it weren’t for the clear command in it. Stiles steps back again, freezing when his back meets a wall or door or fridge and he doesn’t even fucking know. Peter follows the movement and without hesitation reaches out and grabs Stiles’ chin, fingers curling and making Stiles angle his head upwards slightly, so they meet, eye to eye.

Stiles swallows reflexively, because he can remember when Peter had done this before, when he had made Stiles bare his neck like a whimpering hound. Now there are only mere inches separating them, and Stiles can’t move, can’t escape…

 _“You can lie to yourself.”_ Peter looks like he’s savouring Stiles’ tension and confusion and just that little bit of fear that creeps back in even though he can’t help it. _“But you can never lie to me.”_

His fingers trace Stiles’ jawline and for the first time Stiles realises they’re warm. Warm and wet and slightly sticky almost. His thumb brushes over Stiles’ cheek, and then slides down until his hand frames Stiles’ neck. With one squeeze he could be choking Stiles, but instead he just lets his fingers linger there, the pulse fluttering beneath.

And none of his hallucinations have been this vivid, Stiles thinks. None have even come close and there must have been something in the water. In the water or the punch or…

Peter withdraws his hand, and just like that between one blink and the next he’s gone. The kitchen is empty but Stiles…

There is still something warm and wet drying on his face and feeling drunk on the moon and whatever is wrong with him Stiles stumbles to the nearest mirror, in the downstairs bathroom in the hallway. He flicks on the light and catches sight of his reflection and he’s -

He’s sick. So fucking sick.

Stiles has never liked blood, and in the mirror half of his face and neck is streaked with the stuff, painted on like a sick kind of war paint. He chokes, and gags, and his eyes flicker blue as for a moment his control wavers and the sounds rush in and -

And he blinks and he’s normal. There is no blood, just sweat and his hair is clinging to the back of his neck, and there is no blood, no blood or finger marks or anything even remotely suggesting there had been something there only seconds previously.

There is movement in the mirror, and Stiles steps out of the toilet, spotting Lydia in the hallway. The red head has her gaze down as she heads to the door, keys in her hand.

It’s Lydia’s party.

It’s Lydia, who had shoved the punch glass at him waited until he had drunk even a sip.

It’s Lydia who has a shadow behind her that Stiles thinks is probably still a hallucination, because he could swear the shape looks almost like Peter, but burned beyond recognition.

"Lydia!" Stiles raises his voice in warning, seeing the shadow of Peter looming behind her. She turns, almost reluctantly. He pauses, “Lydia?” he asks, gaze sliding to the shadow, “Is that _Peter_?”

 _"Get rid of him,"_ the shadow, the hallucination, whatever it is says.

And Lydia listens, stepping forwards, her eyes stone cold.

That throws Stiles, because Peter hasn't been real, right? Peter's been in his head, but he wasn't real.

And that hesitation is all Lydia needs to throw some faintly blue dust in his face.

 

Scott tries to locate Allison first. She’s upstairs, splashing cold water over her face. “Are you okay?” he asks, lingering in the doorway. She smiles at him in the mirror, but it’s weak and barely there.

She nods, “I’m fine,” he hears the lie, but he lets her have it, “I was just going to head out actually,” she shrugs, “I’m sure Lydia will understand.”

Scott nods and steps backwards, letting that distance between them grow just a little bit. He has no idea what went wrong, but he knows he’s lost her. He’s lost her and he’s not going to chase after her this time. He backs away, turning to head down the stairs and freezes because what is his mom doing here?

“Mom?” he asks, and she looks up at him. Her lips are pale, except for a streak of lipstick across them in bright red.

“Scott,” she breathes out, and then slides down against the wall and that is the moment Scott realises it’s not lipstick.

It’s blood, crimson red and clinging to her lips, “Mom!” he panics, darting forwards, but she flinches away, “Mom - what happened? What are you doing here… we… we need to get you to a hospital…”

For a moment she meets his gaze, lips trembling, “It was a monster,” she whispers, and Scott feels his heart beating loudly in his chest, “It was a monster with yellow eyes…” he voice wavers, “Fangs and claws and…”

“Mom…” Scott moves towards her, about to reach out, to touch her…

But then she flinches back.

“Don’t touch me!”

He freezes, eyes wide and scared and…

There are claw marks on his mother’s side.

And the hand he had reached out with, fingers spread is hovering in the air, indecisive.

Each fingertip is dipped in red.

“-cott? Scott. SCOTT!”

He shakes himself out of his daze, to Alliosn shaking him. The brunette ducks down into his field of vision, brushing hair out of her eyes, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He shoves her aside, attention sliding to his mom, but there is nothing there. Scott’s fingers and claws and clean and his mom isn’t there.

“It’s not real!” Allison shakes him, “Scott, listen to me, it’s not real. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it happened to me too! It’s not real!”

“But it…”

She shakes her head, looking distraught, “I know,” is all she says, looking grim, “We need to find the others. We need to…” she freezes, “Lydia.”

Scott chokes back the hysteria in his throat, trying to wrap his head around the fact his mom isn’t dying, he didn’t hurt her. “You look for Lydia,” he tells Allison, “I’ll find Stiles.”

Allison nods and vanishes and Scott pulls himself up, taking a moment to compose himself.

There is something wrong.

Not just with him. Everyone is stumbling around looking drunk, but it’s worse than that. Someone is making out with a bush, another person is picking imaginary bugs off himself. Scott stands in the doorway to the garden, looking around to spot his lanky friend.

The punch bowl sits nearby, pink and innoculous, and Scott’s heart just drops at the sight of purple petals floating around in it.

“I can’t swim!” somebody shouts suddenly, “No! No, no no, STOP, GUYS! I can’t swim!”

Scott’s head snaps up, because that’s the photographer dude.

Matt. Matt Daehler.

“I can’t swim!” the guy is protesting as two burly guys from the lacrosse team swing him forwards, “No, wait, I can’t…” he goes straight forwards into the pool. And he’s right. He can’t swim. He struggles and flails and Scott, like an asshole, stands there and watches the guy as he slowly sinks.

Jackson’s the one to pull him out. Because of course. Because this is it, this is the solution, the final piece of the puzzle. Matt chokes and coughs out water, shirt drenched. He’s terrified, Scott can hear his heartbeat. Utterly terrified. He hates the water, fears it.

“What are you looking at?” he spits at everyone, most of whom are too drunk to care. Jackson is standing behind him, still and calm.

Or controlled, Scott thinks, because it’s Matt. Matt’s controlling Jackson. Matt is the one killing people. Oh god it’s Matt.

Matt is the one controlling the kanima.

 

Derek needs help.

He works that out approximately seven seconds after Isaac’s chains, old and worn by the fire, snap and the beta hurtles out of the subway car. He should be able to wrangle Isaac back, get the beta back into the broken chains, but at that moment Boyd’s chains break as well.

Derek turns around, only to be confronted by a raging werewolf, snarling and eyes a brilliant golden yellow. He wrestles with Boyd, gritting his teeth and trying not to hiss in pain every time the claws slice through him. Erica lets out a yowl, sounding more like a cat than a werewolf as she wrestles her own chains off, and Derek should be shoving her back, but he’s still got his arms full of Boyd.

“Erica, no!” he shouts, just as Boyd swipes stinging claws down his face and Erica makes a break for it. The alpha buckles under the force of his beta’s struggles, still helpless to try and get Erica back.

There is a snarl and Erica never makes it to the door, because suddenly Isaac is there, knocking her backwards. Erica tumbles to the ground and Isaac leans over her, pressing down on the back of her neck, keeping her pinned there.

The blonde looks up, eyes gold. He nods when he meets Derek’s gaze, and the alpha can hear Isaac’s heart beat racing, but the shift is under control. Relaxing slightly, Boyd once again surges against him, but now Derek can concentrate his full attention on forcing the beta back, wrapping the chains around the enraged full moon happy wolf.

“I found an anchor,” Isaac says, a little lisp from his fangs that makes him sound adorable. “It managed to pull me back.” He clips the chain he had been in around Erica, the female beta looking out of control, but mildly less so now.

“What was it?” Derek frowns, stepping back and checking Boyd isn’t going to break free.

“My father,” Isaac says shortly, “Before… I mean… he didn’t always lock me in a freezer.” And that - that’s sad. It’s the saddest thing Derek has heard beyond his own life and not for the first time he wonders why he decided to surround himself with broken people. “Go take a break,” Isaac says, “I’ll keep an eye on them,” he gestures at the pair of wolves, “They’re looking less like they want to kill anything with a heartbeat.”

Derek nods, relieved and grateful. Isaac has slipped down into a seat and Derek pauses to check the bindings on Erica, before stepping out, tension slipping off him like water.

There are footsteps and he blinks, wondering if Scott had finally got his message. He turns, frowning when he sees Lydia standing there, looking small and out of place in the warehouse. “Lydia?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” she tells him, and she offers him a reassuring smile that somehow only serves to make Derek more nervous, and he’s about to step back, step away from her, when she moves, bringing something to her mouth and blowing and--

Derek can taste wolfsbane on his tongue and feel the grit land in his eyes, and the world swims sickeningly. Lydia stares down at him, sighing.

“For the record,” she says, as she leans down towards him. Her voice sounds odd, distorted, like there is someone speaking with her, “I am sorry.”

 

He isn’t waking up.

He’s so still, but his chest is still rising and falling. That reassures her, just that little bit and she nuzzles him, trying to wake him up. The coyote whines, pawing at her human when he doesn’t respond. He shouldn’t be sleeping, not at this time. It’s wrong, and the smell is unnatural.

The coyote - _Malia, her name is Malia_ \- barks in the human’s ear. The human - _Stiles_ \- doesn’t react.

She has to wake him up. She has to. The moon pulses above but at the moment she’s safe. She’s trapped in fur and claws, and though it makes her bones ache she’s in control. She whines, because she needs Stiles.

Malia had never asked him to come into the woods, looking for her. She had never asked him to invade her home, but he did it anyway. He stole the doll, almost got her killed by monster-reptile-cold-blood and she shouldn’t still be here.

But he had come back for her. There had been a moment in the library, when she thought she was going to be left alone. She was going to die, killed by the monster.

She hadn’t: Stiles had come back for her, he hadn’t left her there.

Malia had missed that feeling of having someone there for her. It had been the reason she had sought him out again, found him down at that house by the lake and seen if he’d still follow after her, even when she ran.

He had. And she had stayed with him since.

But now he had gone. He was still there, physically, but he was out of it. There was a poison or something that had knocked him out and she had to help. She had to _do something_ and she felt so useless, four paws, a fur coat…

She pawed at his shoulder, preparing to scratch him up. He’s a wolf. He’ll heal.

Blunt nails scrape over soft flannel and she hisses, frustrated, digging deeper as she paws, before realising what the problem is.

Her nails are blunt and soft and rounded. Her paws are pale and she has fingers - god how she’s missed fingers, nothing much else but fingers…

 _Oh my god_ she tries to say, but all that comes out is a rush of breath, surprise and shock overcoming her. She rocks back, icy cold suddenly, because she’s lost her fur coat. The world has dimmed around her and she blinks, peering around at the kitchen which suddenly looks a whole lot smaller…

She’s human.

She takes a deep breath.

Malia just managed to turn herself back to human.

Now, _now_ she can do something. She can be useful, she can _help._ Her vocal cords aren’t working but she reaches out, grabbing weakly onto Stiles’ shoulder and shaking him. His head lolls and he whines, low in his throat but doesn’t stir.

He’s not going to wake, not like this.

Malia makes a grab for the jacket lying over the chair. It smells like Stiles and it’s still faintly warm, and it’s better than nothing. She knows human society doesn’t accept naked people as the norm, but at the moment she doesn’t care. She stands, legs weak, and there is a terrible moment when she thinks she is going to fall back over, because she hasn’t walked on two legs for _years_ but then it all clicks, her brain wired into gear.

She is still unsteady as she steps lightly forwards, tiptoeing. She glances at Stiles, worried about him, but she needs help. She scents the air, raising her head. It’s cold, and she clutches the jacket to her tighter as she slips outside, following the scent to Stiles’ wolf-brother.

Stiles’ wolf-brother is standing at the bottom of the stairs, frowning at something outside. She catches his attention by tugging at his sleeve, still trying to work out how human vocal cords work.

“Yeah?” he blinks at her, “Hey…” he frowns at her, taking in her lack of clothes, “Are you okay?” he reaches out and she flinches back slightly, but then relaxes into the human touch.

“Sc…” she tries to say his name, but her tongue is tied up in knots. She tries again, “Scoh…. Sccc-oh-ttt.” Sounding it out one syllable at a time seems to work.

“Are you drunk?”

Sort of. Or maybe not.

Malia shakes her head vigorously and Scott just looks confused. She decides to skip the niceties and get straight to the point, “St…. stah…. Stie…. St….eye… st-eye…”

“Stiles?” he guesses, suddenly, and then takes her in again, gaze sweeping up her form, noticing the jacket and his jaw just drops, “Oh my god. Malia?”

She nods frantically, stumbling backwards, and dragging him with her, “St-eye-iles.” She says, gesturing at the unconscious human, “Stiles,” she says again, throat beginning to get used to talking, but it still sounds like a garbled mess.

Scott drops to his knees, and he shakes the unconscious wolf’s shoulder, “Stiles? Stiles! Wake up!” he glances helplessly back at Malia.

She shakes her head, “d-Did… didn’t… w-w-work.” She stutters out. “H-hhell-pp?”

“I’m going to help him,” Scott promises, meeting her gaze. She nods again, shakily.

Scott had better help Stiles, otherwise she’s turned back to human for nothing.

 

Derek wakes to a burning in his arms, splinters digging into his back and a lethargic, exhaustion weighing his limbs down. He wakes to a shadow in the corner of his vision, small and lithe and adjusting the angle of a mirror, then stepping sideways and moving another one.

“Lydia?” Derek squints, “Lydia…”

That’s when the smell hits him, of wolfsbane and ash and a bitter acrid burnt smell that--

That’s coming from the floorboards. Or more accurately, the hole in the floorboards. Derek cranes his neck, and then decides he doesn’t want to when he catches the sight of pale flesh. It’s surprisingly whole, and not nearly as burnt or rotted as it should be.

There is the smell of ozone as Lydia steps daintily around his wolfsbane encased body, “Lydia, stop.” Derek tries to tell her. She blinks at him as if she is in a dream and not really there, “You don’t what you’re doing.” He tries instead.

“Actually I do,” the red head whispers sadly, “That’s always the worst thing, isn’t it?” and she tilts the final mirror to catch the moonlight.

The room lights up. The moon pours down, refracted and reflected from one mirror to another and then finally shooting past Derek, straight down into the hole.

Claws dig into his wrist, and it’s only then that Derek realises his wrist is dangling over into the hole in the floorboards. He cries out in surprise, eyes burning red as something shifts and digs into him. He feels blood running down, dripping down towards the body buried there.

Then it lets go and there is only silence, broken by Lydia’s deep breaths, a slightly hysterical edge to them.

The floorboards cracking is unexpected and has Derek tugging his arm back, curling it to his chest and clenching his eyes closed as dust and soil rains down on him. He shudders, feeling weak and so, so drained.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Lydia’s whisper, unsteady and almost unheard.

But the voice he loses consciousness to is smooth and deep and all too smug. “I heard there was a party. Don’t worry. I invited myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a good point to ask (although I'm probably going to do it anyway) if you guys want s3? 3a is the next step, which I have no ideas for, and the few I do have are so far off-script from the show it might take me longer to get anything working, but I'll try.
> 
> Second question is pairings. Obviously at this point Scott and Allison are breaking, like in canon, so if you do want me to continue into s3, what pairings do you want? There aren't really many options - I'm torn between making Stiles/Allison romantic, or keeping it as a friendship. There's also Stiles/Malia as an option, because its hella cute. Even if I go the Stiles/Allison route, I might end up settling on Stiles/Malia by s4. Scott's gonna be waiting around for Kira. I kind of want to do Isaac/Cora, because there is so much I want to do with Cora's character. I want to keep her around for 3b for a start. The other option is Isaac/Allison. And that's everyone. Except Lydia and Derek who aren't going to be having romance because I've decided.


	17. Nightmare

The light is blinding. The room is white and the harsh, brightness that presses in on him doesn’t help. Derek squints, hands coming up to shield his eyes from his pale surroundings.

“Good,” someone says, and Derek rolls over onto one shoulder, eyes narrowing at where Stiles sits, perches on what looks like a giant tree trunk. “You’re awake,” Stiles grins at him, and it’s not a nice smile.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, limbs lethargic and weak. He tries to stand, but it feels like he’s moving through treacle. “Stiles… what… what is this place?”

Stiles just stares at him in amusement, thumbs twiddling as he watches Derek roll back onto his spine, so, so tired suddenly.

“Stiles…” Derek tries to find the strength to push himself up again and this time succeeds, slumping into a sitting position. He glances wearily up, and from where he is perched the blue eyed wolf pushes himself up.

“No,” he says, padding towards Derek. He moves like a predator, all grace and poise and screaming not-Stiles. Derek tenses, staring at the teenage boy, brown eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a t-shirt with some comic reference quoted on it that Derek doesn’t get and skinny jeans. He’s sixteen and harmless.

But he’s not.

Stiles stops just in front of where Derek sits, slumped forwards, “Come on, nephew,” Stiles drawls, sounding impatient. He crouches down in front of the alpha, fingers tucked under Derek’s chin to lift up his head, so their gazes meet. Stiles’ smile is lopsided and his eyes have flared blue, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you to smile, Derek? Stop looking like someone just killed your dog!” Stiles nails dig into Derek’s cheek, and he claws his hand away, leaving a sticky trail of blood in his wake.

The blue-eyed wolf’s hand snatches forwards towards Derek’s throat, but Derek catches the clawed grip before it reaches him, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” and Stiles’ other hand is slipping forwards, something in his grip. Derek doesn’t realise what it is until the blade is buried well into Derek’s gut, “Killing you,” Stiles’ tone is scornful, his movements way too calm and still. “Really, _nephew_ , you didn’t see this coming?” Stiles laughs.

Derek’s hand slides weakly off Stiles’ wrist and he feels the claws slot around his throat. “Peter,” Derek whispers, and Stiles just smirks.

“Now he gets it,” Stiles’ tone is like honeyed poison.

Not Stiles.

 _Peter_.

It's Peter staring at him out of Stiles' eyes. Peter smirking at him with Stiles' face as he twists the blade in deeper.

Stiles plasters a fake smile on his face, “It was fun,” he says, “While it lasted. Y’know, I might actually miss you, nephew.”

Then Stiles - _Peter_ , lurking behind Stiles’ eyes - curls his claws in Derek’s neck and rips Derek’s throat out.

 

Derek wakes suddenly. He is breathing way too quickly and panting, gasping for breath. His hand flies to his throat, but it is smooth and unmarked.

It was just a dream, he thinks, slumping back, it was all just some twisted dream.

“Good,” someone says suddenly, and his whole body just freezes, “You’re awake.”

Deaton steps into view, peering at him in concern.

“You did quite a number on him,” Deaton says to someone Derek can’t quite see.

“It’s to be expected, really,” someone replies, and Derek feels his claws beginning to emerge as he sits up, gaze zeroing in on the man who stands the other side of the room.

Peter Hale just smirks, looking rather satisfied. He raises his hand up in a little wave, “Hello nephew.”

 

The last thing Scott had been expecting was to be confronted by a naked girl wearing nothing other than what looked like Stiles’ jacket.

And Stiles is out of it. He has no idea what happened, but Malia looks frantic. She’s human, naked and standing, shaking and shivering and - god, Scott takes thirty seconds to grab one of Lydia’s coats from the hall way, shoving it at the girl. She sinks down into a curled up pile on the floor, wrapping herself up. She doesn’t look like she cares about her state of dress, but she seems pretty cold at the very least.

Scott turns his attention back to Stiles. “Can you get Allison?” he asks Malia, who just blinks at him, blankly. “Allison,” he says again, slowly, “The girl. Brown hair. Brown eyes.”

She nods, and uncurls from her position. Her movements are shaky, but she stands, nose twitching as she wanders off, following the scent. Scott turns back to Stiles, shaking his shoulder, frantically.

“Come on!” Scott snaps, “Wake up! You can’t be that drunk! We can’t even get drunk, but I think Lydia spiked the punch. I don’t even know why… but everyone is freaking out and… Matt… it’s Matt, controlling the kanima. I don’t know why, but he can’t swim. Jackson fished him out and everything, come on, we need to tell your dad and…”

“And that ain’t gonna sober him up,” a large black girl peers down at Scott, sipping on a glass of water.

“Well what is?” he stares up at her rather desperately.

“This is one way to do it,” she says, taking one last sip of her water before upending the rest of the glass onto Stiles’ head.

His friend’s eyes fly open, flaring blue from shock. He lashes out; human fingers clawing out at Scott in a frantic panic.

“Woah!” the girl steps back, “Easy there, sugar.”

“Stiles!” Scott snaps, “Stiles! Snap out of it!” he catches Stiles’ flailing hands and his friend focusses, staring at Scott in horror. “You okay?” he asks.

The wolf shakes his head, “Thanks Danielle,” he says to the girl who just shrugs and saunters off, looking smug. Stiles swallows, trembling. He looks weak and terrified.

“What is it?” Scott asks, “What’s wrong?” he reaches out, one hand on Stiles’ shoulder but Stiles flinches away.

“Don’t… Don’t touch me… don’t… don’t… don’t _touch_ me…” he curls up on himself, shivering.

“Stiles?” there is movement of limbs and then Malia has piled herself back onto the floor, sitting in front of Stiles, “Stiles?” she repeats.

He stares at her, but for him it seems to click faster than it did for Scott, “Malia?”

“What happened?” Allison appears in the doorway, “This girl appeared and I think she might be drunk…” she freezes, “Wait… is she the coyote?”

Scott rocks back on his heels, “We need to move,” he says, frantically, “We need to move. I know who’s controlling the kanima,” and their attention snaps to him, “It’s Matt,” he says, “Matt’s the one controlling Jackson.”

He’s waiting for Stiles to say ‘I told you so’ which is why when Allison speaks he jumps slightly. “Wait… where’s Lydia?”

Stiles flinches. Actually flinches, “She knocked me out,” he whispers, voice only just audible, “She blew this sort of powder into my face.” He looks terrified, for some reason, “The punch… she drugged the punch. And I thought I saw…” he shakes his head, “That… it’s not though. I just… I see him everywhere so it can’t be…”

“Can’t be who?” Scott asks, because who the hell does Stiles see everywhere? But his friend looks grim and confused and so, so lost, almost as lost as the once-a-coyote sitting next to him. “Who can’t it be?”

Stiles looks up at them, and for just a moment his eyes flare blue, “Peter,” he whispers, “I thought I saw Peter.”

 

“What’s he doing here?” Derek growls out at Deaton. The vet tries to placate him.

“He brought you here,” the dark skinned man says, tone low, “I know it’s not the best thing to have him here, but he hasn’t done anything.”

“Yet,” Derek growls. Peter just shifts his weight slightly in the background, as if he’s trying to avoid the curious gaze Deaton keeps directing towards him. It might be because Derek is pretty sure his uncle was dead only that morning. “Why are you helping?” Derek directs towards Deaton.

“I made a promise to your mother.”

“To _Talia_?” Peter sneers his sister’s name like it’s a curse, then pauses, eyes widening, “You were her emissary, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Deaton nods, “And I guess now that duty I once had to Talia - your mother,” he says to Derek fondly, “And your sister,” he tells Peter, slightly less fondly, “I now have a duty to you,” he tells Derek, “Despite your questionable competency as an alpha.”

“I’m still an alpha then?” Derek queries.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Peter drawls, “I don’t want to be the alpha again. I’m alive and happy and I want to stay that way.”

Derek responds by grabbing a scalpel that was resting in a tray on the table nearby and throwing it at Peter. The other wolf catches it, inches from his face. “Okay.” He looks slightly cowed, “I was hoping for a warmer welcome, but: point taken.”

“I can set you on fire again.” Derek snarls at him, “What did you do? You were dead!”

“And now I’m not,” Peter tosses the scalpel to the floor, hands spread out to either side placating. Deaton steps backwards, as if sensing the oncoming fight. “Look, Derek, you’re weak at the moment, and so am I. I’m tired; I barely managed to find a half-decent shower and some clothes while you were taking a nap, and I’ve come back, only to find out that there is a kanima around, Gerard Argent is in town and you’ve got a little pack of orphans you’ve taken under your wing.”

Derek thinks he’s had enough. He slides off the table, tugging his shirt back on. Peter steps backwards, “Don’t… let’s not fight,” Peter says, and he looks nervous. He genuinely doesn’t want to fight. He never did though. Peter will talk, cunning and smooth and wrap his way into Derek’s head. “I’m here to help.”

“Why would I want help from a total psycho?” Derek snaps.

Peter scoffs as if Derek is being completely ridiculous, “First of all, I’m not a total psycho,” he says, as if that makes everything better, “And, by the way, you’re the one that slashed my throat wide open,” he gestures at Derek with a grin, “Oh, and I had a clever little beta who did exactly what I told him to - how is he, by the way?”

Derek flinches, and decides not to mention how he can’t look at Stiles without seeing Peter. And now Peter’s here, alive, not-dead, “Stay away from him,” Derek says, “In fact, stay away from everyone.”

“But I can _help_ ,” Peter emphasises, “I can…”

The alpha has finally given up trying to play nice and he gives into temptation and punches Peter in the face.

 

Scott leaves the party, along with everyone else. To the ring of sirens and the screams of drunk and stoned teenagers and young adults running across the lawn.

And just for a second - just for a split second - he thinks he sees Matt, with the kanima curled by his legs, the long tail lashing. But then he’s gone and Scott is moving for his bike, moving away from the crowd.

Allison and Stiles are still inside, along with the coyote - Malia, Scott reminds himself. Her name is Malia and she’s human now. He’ll leave his friend to handle that though.

Scott meanwhile is going to Deaton’s. He’s convinced Deaton lives at the clinic, and he’ll probably be there this late. He’ll have a plan, or at least some more mountain ash for them. He wheels his bike into the parking lot, heading to where he usually ties it up. He’s only metres away when a shadow appears from behind a parked car, and Scott jumps in surprise, his bike clattering to the ground.

He’s mid-punch as well when the figure moves, stepping out into the moonlight with wide, terrified eyes. “Scott!”

He pulls the punch at the last second, “Isaac?” he asks, disbelief in his tone as he stares at the curly haired beta. There is a splash of blood drying above Isaac’s one lip, but otherwise apart from his blonde hair being in disarray, Isaac looks fine, “What are you doing here?”

Isaac looks frantic, glancing around and tapping his fingers against his palm, some sort of nervous twitch or something, “I can’t find Derek,” he admits, sounding desperate, “He just took off somewhere. It’s the middle of the full moon and he vanishes. I tracked his scent but there was… something else. I lost it.” The beta looks helpless and lost.

Scott grimaces, because he has no idea, no clue… “Where the hell would he go?”

Isaac shrugs, “Why do you think I came to you?”

“Don’t worry,” Scott comforts him, running his mind through the potential places an alpha would go to on the full moon, “Just… we’ll go find him. I’m heading to Deaton’s… I just… we know who the kanima’s master is,” he ends up blurting out instead. Because they can use help on this, and Isaac is another set of claws.

But only if he agrees.

“Who?”

“Matt.” Scott’s tone is grim.

For a moment Isaac looks puzzled, trying to place him, and then his expression clears so suddenly it’s not even funny. “The photographer? But he… he used to come over to my house when we were kids and talk comics with me.”

Scott begins moving, rescuing his bike from the ground. He leaves it propped up against the wall. “Yeah,” he nods, “That Matt. I don’t know why he’d want to kill the 2006 swim team…”

“Maybe they sucked.”

“Allison and Stiles are going to check it out,” Scott shrugs, “And then…” he pauses when something occurs to him and he glances at the full moon, still in the sky, “Wait… if you were dealing with the full moon then how are you coping?”

“Better than Erica and Boyd,” Isaac pushes past him, “They’re still chained up. Now are we going to go find Deaton or Derek or what?”

“You’re coming with me?” Scott stares in surprise at the beta’s back. He honestly hadn’t expected help. Hoped for it, yes, but expected it? No.

Isaac turns, looking slightly sheepish, “Yeah… you… you’re always trying to do the right thing and I want to help.” He ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. Scott hates the way he looks at him, as if Scott has some great master plan, and isn’t winging his way by making it up as he goes along.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admits.

Isaac just laughs, turning around and heading for the entrance to the vet’s clinic. “I don’t think any of us do,” he turns, shouting back over his shoulder, and for some reason that settles Scott, calms him down, in a way nothing else that night has.

 

“Here, try this.” Stiles tosses Malia a jumper and the girl sitting on the bed attempts to figure out how to wear it. “Okay, maybe not,” Stiles sighs, and turns back to Lydia’s wardrobe.

“I c-can…” Malia’s voice is still weak, hoarse and her words not flowing smoothly, but she’s already better than she had been when she had still been in the mind-set of an animal, “I can w-wear your jacket,” she looks almost hopeful, and Stiles presses his lips together in a thin line. He gladly left Allison to find Malia underwear before the brunette huntress had to leave.

The once-coyote is wearing Lydia’s stuff. Stiles had somehow found the only pair of shorts he thinks Lydia owns. Lydia may murder him for the terrible matching clothes but Malia seems comfortable. Well, as comfortable as a girl can be when she has just lost her fur coat.

“Here,” he finds a cardigan instead and throws that at her, “Try this.”

Malia takes it, and she seems to be able to sense his urgency, because she pulls it on. It’s back-to-front and her fingers are clumsy as she growls, trying to wrestle her arms into it.

“Hey…” Stiles approaches her to help and she flinches. He holds up his hands to show he means no harm, then reaches out, untangling the sleeve, “Try that,” he says.

She looks embarrassed, but grateful. Stiles gives her his jacket, because she seems to like it, and she sniffs at it, before pulling it on, shivering. “We…lizard look?” She frowns at how that sentence came out.

“We’re going to look for the lizard,” Stiles nods, “I’m going to take you home first though… okay…?” he’s barely got the sentence out than Malia is shaking her head.

“No,” she says, “No no no…” she stops, takes a deep breath and tries to find her words. Stiles is suddenly aware of how difficult this is for her, after seven, nearly eight years of being a coyote, to now be a human once more. “You… you didn’t leave,” she says, bluntly, “You didn’t leave me. So I… I’m not gonna leave you,” she stares at him, eyes boring into his. She looks terrified, scared and so, so alone.

And Stiles can’t resist pretty brown eyes. He sighs, “It’s gonna be dangerous,” he warns her, “Killer lizard. Guys with guns. Hunters…”

She leans towards him, grabbing one hand, “I’m not going to leave you,” she says, looking delighted when the words flow out, “Never gonna leave you.”

Stiles grins back at Malia, and she looks shy, nervous suddenly. “Come on then. You know my dad, right? We’re going to go talk to him.”

Malia nods, “He’s nice. He gives me… that meat… ppepp…pp..”

“Pepperoni?”

“That’s it. From the pizza. He gave it to me.”

Stiles thinks he wants to keep Malia around, if only so she eats all the unhealthy bits of the pizza for his dad.

 

The bell rings as they push their way into the animal clinic. Scott leads, with Isaac cautiously treading in his footsteps. “Deaton’s still in,” Scott notes, gesturing at the light on behind the desk.

“But it says _closed_.”

“It always says closed,” Scott shrugs, “This way,” he leads Isaac past the front desk. The barrier at reception is open, the rowan barricade a non-problem. It’s easy to step through, circling around towards the main operations room that Deaton tends to use as some sort of office…

There is a crash and a pained ‘oww’. Scott’s pace speeds up as he rounds the corner, freezing as he takes in the sight greeting him.

Isaac appears besides him, just as Derek hoists up the guy he  had just chucked to the floor and punches him in the face again. His head flies back, lip bleeding red, and Scott just gapes.

At Peter.

A very much alive Peter.

“Holy shit.”

He remembers Stiles’ words _‘I thought I saw Peter’_ and thinks - god, this is going to kill his friend. Kill him, or break him beyond repair. His first thoughts are all wrapped around Stiles, so that when his own worry and concern hit him, he stays standing, even as Derek punches Peter again.

Because that’s Peter. Peter. Alive. His old alpha. The monster who had bit him.

That’s when the anger appears.

“I see this is cathartic for you,” Peter drawls, licking the blood from around his mouth.

Derek hits him again and in the background Scott can see Deaton, standing back, well out of the way. Derek’s eyes flare red - good, that means he’s still an alpha. Peter’s not even fighting, not shifting, so Scott has no idea what colour his eyes are, but he has a horrible feeling they’re a cold ice blue to match Stiles’.

Another punch has Peter crashing back into a wall, looking frustrated, “Okay, go ahead!” he snaps, “Come on! Do it! Hit me! Hit me! Let go of all the anger, self-loathing and hatred that’s sitting in your pathetic little brain. I may be the one taking the beating, but you’re already beaten, Derek.” He smirks, triumphantly as Derek comes to a stop in front of his uncle, glaring at him.

“Is this normal?” Isaac whispers to Scott, squinting at the fight, “Who is that guy?”

“That’s Peter. Derek’s uncle?” Isaac makes a small ‘ah’ of understanding. “A while ago he tried to kill us all so we set him on fire and Derek ripped his throat out.” Isaac’s expression shifts quickly from understanding to shock to sympathy and then to wariness. Derek and Peter are blinking, turning to look at the new arrivals as if they’ve only just noticed them.

“Good to know,” Isaac shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Scott…” Deaton steps past the other two wolves, giving them a wide berth. Peter is dabbing at his split lip, which is still pouring blood. “Is everything okay?” Deaton glances from Scott to Isaac.

Derek looks like he’s trying to compose himself, but failing. “What is it?” the alpha growls out.

“We know who’s controlling the kanima,” Scott says, grimly, “It’s Matt.”

There is a pause. “Who?” Derek narrows his eyes are him.

Scott elaborates, “He’s a photographer at school…”

“Total psycho,” Isaac inputs helpfully. Peter looks mildly offended, even though they’re not even talking about him.

“Prime example,” he says, pulling out a white handkerchief from somewhere and wiping away the blood on his face, “I’m not healing that quickly…” he falls silent when both Derek and Scott turn to glare at him.

“Um… what’s he doing here?” Scott points at Peter, “I thought he was dead.”

“I got better,” Peter shrugs. Derek flashes red eyes at him but the - beta? Is Peter a beta now? Peter doesn’t look cowed by Derek’s intimidation tactics.

“Stiles,” Scott blurts out, “He said something about Lydia. Where is she? Is she okay? What did you do to her…” he steps threateningly towards Peter, and the beta just flinches back, using Derek as a shield.

“She helped,” he drawls, “And she’s fine. There’s no lasting damage: maybe a few terrifying nightmares, but she’s a strong girl. She’ll bounce back - they always do. She went home. I haven’t laid one little claw on her…”

“If you have…” Scott growls, “If you’ve touched her, or… or…”

“When you’ve finished with your inane sounding threat, can we get back to our main focus?” Peter spreads out his hands, attempting to placate them. “Please,” he says, but it’s more exasperation than asking nicely.

Scott frowns at him, “Why are you even here?”

And the bastard looks smug. “Because I know how to stop Jackson. And not just how to stop him. How to save him.” Isaac shifts uncomfortably, and he’s probably thinking the same thing as Scott.

“There isn’t anything,” Derek grinds out, “We’ve looked.”

“And at this stage,” Isaac leans over Scott’s shoulder, “We might be better off killing him. He’s too powerful.”

Peter just shrugs, “You’ve looked in the Argent’s books, yes, but the Hale family have their own records. After I got out of the coma I managed to save everything we had,” he somehow manages to look superior when Derek looks confused. The alpha obviously didn’t know about this, and he looks to Deaton for help. The vet just shoots him a wry grin and that isn’t helpful in the slightest.

So Derek turns to Peter, “Where?” he asks, as if it physically pains him to go to his uncle for help. And it should, Scott thinks. They should be burning Peter to the ground, not letting him walk around as if nothing ever happened.

“Where else?” Peter shrugs, “At our old house,” he makes as if to move past Derek, as if to take on the role of retrieving the information but Derek stops him, one arm out across Peter’s path.

Peter pauses, looking affronted as Derek shakes his head, “I’m not letting you slip out of sight. I’m going with you,” he turns back to Scott, taking in Isaac hovering, “You two…” he starts to tell them something.

“We’ll go to the Sheriff’s station,” Scott says, “See about getting an arrest. That’s where Stiles and Malia are heading… oh, yeah, Malia turned back to human, thanks for the help. Allison is meeting them there.”

“You really think you can just arrest this kid?” Derek looks sceptical.

“Derek’s right,” Deaton finally speaks up, only to sound grave and forbearing, “He’s killed six people already. Who’s to say he might not kill more?”

Scott glances between them, not knowing what to do. But Isaac hovers at his shoulder, and he knows his friends _(his pack)_ are waiting for him. “It’s a start.” He says, tone dark, “It’s a start.”

 

“It’s two in the morning,” the Sheriff looks weary as he peers over his cup of coffee at Stiles, “I’ve got another five hours on my shift and you want me to what now?”

“Matt Daehler,” Stiles enunciates every syllable of the name.

“ _That’s_ the _kid_ that is the real killer? No… no wait… he’s the one controlling the… the…”

“Kanima,” Stiles inputs helpfully.

“Right - he’s the one controlling the kanima to kill the 2006 swim team. Why?”

“Well… we don’t have a motive yet…” Stiles drags out his sentence, “But!” he adds, brightly, “It’s definitely him, so if we can link him to the site of the murders we can get a warrant, get him in and out of the way and stop the murders…”

His dad holds up a hand, “Okay, okay, hold up here a minute. Who’s that?” he nods at where Malia is standing, shoulders hunched, behind Stiles. “And why is she wearing your jacket?” The Sheriff’s face falls, “Please tell me you didn’t get a girl pregnant.”

Stiles gapes. Malia just frowns and looks at him with a confused expression on her face. “Mating season is finished,” she whispers to him, “What’s he t-talking about?”

The blue eyed wolf sighs, and turns to his dad slowly, “Dad, you remember the coyote?”

“No.” John Stilinski stares with a deadpan expression at Malia.

“Yes.” Stiles nods, because it might be hard to believe but it’s true.

“No.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles hisses, “Meet Malia.” She pulls one hand out of his jacket pocket long enough to give a small wave before sticking it back in.

His dad just blinks.

 

She sneaks in through her window.

It’s easy, surprisingly so, and no wonder the werewolves favour it to using the front door. She stills when the window creaks, but there is no sound in the house. A faint clatter suggests the hunters are congregating in the basement, probably due to the full moon.

Allison feels guilty, because she should have been there. She should have spent the evening at home, with her mother. But she found she couldn’t.

She’s picked her side.

She grabs the duffel bag that she keeps under her bed and slips out the window as easily as she slipped in. She pauses for a moment, contemplating passing onto her dad what they’ve found out about the kanima. But there’s no point. They can sort it out, they _will_ sort it out. Then there will be no kanima and no threat and Allison can talk with her dad and her mom about everything.

But right now, Allison’s running with a wolf pack, and there is no place for a wolf amongst hunters.

She slides her window back up, setting on leg out and onto her rooftop. One day soon these tiles will slip from all the people who walk across them, but for now the roof holds steady. She pads like the cat Stiles is so fond of calling her, silently towards the edge.

The door below her swings open and she leans back, just as light spills out into the darkness. She can make out the pale white crown of her grandfather’s head and she crouches, just in time as he raises his head, sniffing around.

He’s a hunter but he acts like a wolf.

“Are you sure about this?” Chris asks, stepping out after Gerard, “We need to phone Allison. I need to tell her… we need to be together…”

“You can be together once we’ve hounded Derek and his pack from whatever dark corner they’re hiding in,” Gerard’s voice is stern, commanding. “For now, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

“How do you know?” Chris presses the point, “How do you know the kanima will be at the police station?”

Allison gasps, and she immediately presses her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, shifting away from the rooftop. Pressing herself flat until she knows she can’t be seen, she listens as the conversation continues.

“Because I do,” Gerard doesn’t answer her dad, “Because now is the time to strike and so we are going to take it.” The pair move down the driveway for their cars, and all Allison can think is that at least she had the sense to park her car around the corner.

Because now? Now it’s a race. It’s her against her family, to warn Stiles and Scott before…

Allison’s mind stutters to a halt because it’s Scott. Scott’s been passing information to Gerard and this… He’s told her grandfather again. He’s told her grandfather all about the kanima’s master. Gerard knows it’s Matt. And he’s heading to the Sheriff’s station where Stiles and his dad are finding evidence against him…

And Matt will know that. Matt will be heading there right now. Matt will be going to stop them, maybe even kill them. It’s bait. It’s bait drawing everyone to the police station.

Allison has to warn them.

 

“You know, if Harris was alive, he’d already be under arrest because all the victims were in his class.” The Sheriff looks at the screen, and then at Stiles, wincing at Stiles’ face. “Sorry,” his dad says, “But I still don’t see a motive, anywhere here.”

“Maybe the swim team…” Malia stops when Stiles and the Sheriff turn to face her, “Uh… maybe the swim team are really bad?” she offers, hesitantly.

Stiles considers it, “That’s true,” he admits, “They haven’t won in like - six years.”

“Here,” his dad stops the screen, “This is the time frame when the spouse was murdered at the hospital. That one - it had to be Matt, right? He would have had to kill her himself. But I…”

“There,” Stiles rests on his dad’s shoulder as he points at the screen. He had spent hours with Lydia once, looking through camera footage for clues of who the alpha was, back when Peter’s name was just a name to him and not memories of claws and blood and fire. He’s gotten good at spotting things on camera footage, and it’s easy to see the dark jacket and head he knows belongs to Matt.

“That’s the back of his head.”

“I sit behind him in history,” Stiles argues, “I know that’s him.”

His dad scrolls through, looking for another shot from a different camera.

“There,” this time Malia spots him, “Same guy,” her sentences are short and snappy but to the point as she prods the screen, making the image blur slightly, and then refine to the same dark jacket and brown hair.

They still can’t see his face.

“He’s talking to… oh my god,” Stiles peers closer, “Is he talking to Melissa?”

John is reaching out for a pen and paper, “We’ll call Melissa,” he says, “Get her in. We’ve got footprints by the trailer and…” he pulls out a plastic bag, “There was a receipt signed by Matt at the mechanics garage a few hours before the mechanic was estimated to have died.”

“Oh god,” Stiles breaths, “And we know he was at the rave as well… so if one’s an incident, two's a coincidence, and three's a pattern, what's four?”

His dad looks surprised that everything has panned out, but oddly and grimly satisfied, “Enough for a warrant. Call Melissa. Check she remembers seeing Matt at the hospital.” Stiles nods, grabbing his phone and stepping out. Malia steps after him, if only because she doesn’t know what else to do. She barely understands what’s happening, and Stiles feels a little guilty, because she should be with her father now, but instead he’s dragged her into their mess.

_“Stiles? What is it? I’m at work, you know?”_

“Yes, please, don’t hang up. I need to know if the night the pregnant girl came in, if you saw a kid. Brown hair, leather jacket…”

_“Stiles, do you know how many kids have brown hair and wear leather jackets?”_

“He looks evil,” Stiles adds, “No, wait… I’m sending you a picture…” he takes a minute to do so while Malia marvels over his phone. “Got it?”

_“Yeah… I remember him. I mean… I stopped him because he was tracking mud in the hall. Why? Stiles… what is all this about? Is Scott okay?”_

Melissa’s voice sounds tense and worried, and Stiles quickly reassures her, “Scott’s fine. Just… my dad and I - we need you to come into the station - okay? He’ll want you to give a statement because we think this kid is the one murdering people.”

_“Oh god… I… sure… I’ll come as soon as possible.”_

Stiles thanks her and hangs up, glancing at where Malia is sniffing the air. “Stiles,” she says, cautiously, “There’s… someone’s here…”

He slides off the desk he had been perched on, stalking like a predator towards the door. He pauses before opening, listening and senses alert, but still oddly focussed on his dad. His dad whose heart is beating faster than it should be.

He yanks open the door, stepping forwards and freezing at what he sees. Matt grins at him, slightly psychotic, with a gun held in his unwavering grip, pointed directly at his dad’s head.

“Hey Stiles,” Matt smirks, “I think you and I need to have a conversation.”


	18. Dawn

“You know I’m technically an omega at the moment,” Peter sounds disgusted as he leads the way to their old house, not even hesitating, pausing only to admire the triskelle in black drawn on the door. “Like it or not Derek, I need a pack. I need an alpha.” He heads for the stairs and lifts up the floorboard.

“What is that?” Derek peers at the cloth encased item, “A book?” He somehow can’t believe that their entire family’s library all fits into one book.

“What century are you living in?” Peter sneers, “It’s a laptop, you idiot.” He pulls it out from the covers, and flips it open, about to press it on when Derek grabs his wrist.

“Not now,” he says, gruffly, “We can look when we get to the Sheriff’s station. There’s no time now.”

Peter sighs, but closes the laptop, “After you, esteemed alpha.”

Derek can’t help but think that Peter’s mocking him, but he really can’t find it in him to care.

 

His eyes flash blue and a low growl builds up in his throat, eyes darting from where his dad sits, to the gun Matt has pointed at his head. A snarl behind him, reminds him about Malia, and he barely manages to stop her from lunging forwards.

“Nu uh,” Matt smirks, “None of that. From you or…” his eyebrows furrow as he stares at Malia, “Or your girlfriend,” he settles for, but he still has no idea who Malia is.

“Matt… it’s Matt, right?” the Sheriff says, placating the teenager, “How about we take this slowly and talk through… there is no need for a gun.”

“Oh, but there is,” Matt’s grin is sick and almost regretful; “There is when your son has his own pair of claws. So Stiles,” he gestures violently with the gun and Stiles winces at the movement, “How about you keep your little werewolf claws sheathed and I won’t put a bullet in your dad’s skull.”

“You put a bullet in his head and I’ll rip out your throat,” Stiles’ vision flares into crystal sharp focus, and Matt looks wary of his flickering eyes, brown to blue and back again, but doesn’t move.

“If he doesn’t I will,” Malia says bluntly, and Matt looks confused by her again.

He juts out his chin towards her, “What are you? A werewolf too?”

“Werecoyote,” Malia says, and she still looks surprised every time the words come out correctly.

Matt lets out a mocking laugh, “Wow,” he whistles, “Werewolves, hunters, kanimas… and now a freaking were…” his face twists in realisation, “Coyote. In the library.” He glares at Stiles, “Was that her?”

Stiles shrugs, but he’s still more worried about the gun pressed to his father’s head, “Guilty,” he says, “Look, Matt, are you sure we can’t have this conversation without the gun… nobody has to get hurt…”

The photographer snorts, “Actually, there are still a lot of people I want to hurt. You three weren’t on the list but I think I can make exceptions. But first… Sheriff… if you’d be so kind…”

Stiles’ dad’s face is twisted in a grimace as his gaze drops down to the computer. He’s deleting all the files, Stiles imagines. All the evidence against Matt. It’s almost ironic - the one time Stiles tries to do the right thing, the time he tries to get them arrested, this happens.

In that regard Peter’s right. The law… it doesn’t always work. But Stiles has seen for himself that taking the law into your own hands doesn’t work either. It just ends up with more graves in the end.

“Deleted,” John says, clicking a final button. He looks at loss with his job done, and he sits there, looking like he wants to do something, but can’t think of what. “What now?”

Matt looks insane. Stiles wonders is he looked like that when he was helping Peter ever, that distant look in his gaze, the panic and desperation, “Now?” he asks, gaze sliding right by Stiles, “Now we wait for Mommy McCall to get here, and then I make sure that none of you can tell _anyone…_ ”

Stiles steps forwards angrily, but only makes it a few steps when Matt moves towards his father, threateningly, “Look, I told you back at the rave - killing doesn’t solve anything!”

“Like you’d know,” Matt sneers.

“I sided with a murdering psychopath,” Stiles laughs, far more cheerful than he should be considering the situation, “And yes, I killed people. I know what you’re going through…”

“You DON’T!” Matt shouts out, “That’s the thing - NONE OF YOU DO!” he looks frustrated, making little angry noises, “Up,” he gestures at John, “Get up!” he snaps, and the Sheriff stands, “Head through to the main station.” He steps after the Sheriff, “You two go first,” he says.

Stiles drags Malia out there. Her heart is unsteady, and she is wide-eyed. God - Stiles wishes he hadn’t dragged her into this. He wishes that even more when they stumble out and the deputy at the front desk is dead, throat slit open and blood pooling on the floor.

“Oh, Matt…” the Sheriff sighs when he sees the body.

“Don’t act like you pity me!” Matt snaps, “I don’t need your pity. Not now. Because now? Now I have Jackson,” he stares triumphantly down the corridor, and Stiles just feels sick at the scent and sight of blood and bodies. “I think about killing them and Jackson… he does it.”

A door slams open and everyone flinches. Matt narrows his eyes, and Stiles whirls around. “Scott,” he snaps out, because he knows his friend will hear him, “Matt’s here, he’s got a gun, don’t…” a sharp pain blossoms in his leg and he drops to one knee with a gasp. It hurts, and it’s almost worse than the last time something happened to his leg. And considering the last time had been Peter snapping the bone…

“Hey!” Malia snarls, “Don’t touch him!” she makes for Matt but Stiles grabs onto her top, stopping her.

“Don’t…” he gasps out, feeling the flesh slowly force the bullet out. He’s healing, but slower than he had once healed as a beta. There’s no support, no pack, nothing, and it’s painful feeling every cell heal one at a time. He moans slightly as the bullet clicks to the floor, teeth gritted.

“Matt… listen to me…” the Sheriff is staring with terror at Stiles, “Calm down…”

“No!” Matt steps away from the Sheriff, “McCall - come through here, otherwise I’ll shoot you,” he glares at John, “The others may heal supernaturally fast, but you don’t have that ability, and Stiles would hate to lose his father, wouldn’t he?”

Scott’s voice drifts over, “You wouldn’t,” he says, “The moment you do that you lose your bargaining chip and Stiles or Malia rips your throat out.” Stiles cranes his neck, spotting where Isaac and Scott have frozen down the hall. The pair are cautiously approaching, having spotted the Sheriff. They’re moving slowly, because nobody wants to alarm Matt.

Matt laughs, “No, the moment I do that, Jackson appears. Like now, for instance. So you know what? Maybe I really would.” And he raises the gun up to eye level and points it at the Sheriff.

But this time - he pulls the trigger.

 

The shot passes so close to Stiles’ dad that for one terrible moment Scott thinks its hit. He sees Stiles lurch up in wild panic, limbs trembling as he realises abruptly his dad is okay, and then his eyes grow dark as he glares at Matt.

“Are you going to start taking me seriously now?” Matt shouts at them, gaze sidling from Scott and Isaac, then to where Malia hovers over a kneeling Stiles. Then with a frustrated animalistic growl to match the wolves, he grabs the Sheriff’s collar, yanking him backwards. He’s strong. Really strong and the gun’s muzzle is pressed to John’s head as he steps backwards.

Scott tries to placate him, but he knows it’s not going to work, “Matt,” he says, slowly, “Matt, please…”

“No,” Matt shakes his head, glancing wildly around again. He’s past listening to reason, “I… I need to know about this…” he tugs up his shirt and Scott gapes at the scales on Matt’s torso. He drops the shirt down almost immediately, “I need the bestiary. I need to know what the hell is happening… But why should I listen to any of you? You’re all monsters.” He laughs, bitterly.

“So are you!” Surprisingly it’s Malia who snaps that, her eyes flaring blue on and off, matching Stiles’ own eyes. “You’re killing people!”

The photographer looks grim, “How about all of you just SHUT UP?” he snaps, “And Stilinski, stop moping around on the floor - your leg has probably healed already - and god - you don’t realise how amazing that is, do you? That’s you’re even healing at all? Do you know what happens to normal people?”

“They die,” Malia actually answers him, bluntly, and glaring at him. She looks protective of Stiles, but at the same time knows she can’t do anything. Scott thinks she’s wearing some of Lydia’s clothes, but he’s not sure.

“He shouldn’t have let them drink,” Matt shakes his head viciously.

“Who?” Scott presses, trying to keep him talking. He can see a vein pulse on the Sheriff’s neck, but Matt’s distracted again.

“Lahey!” he snaps at Scott, “He shouldn’t have let them drink?”

Despite being at gun point, the Sheriff still speaks up, “Let who drink?”

It just seems to make Matt more frustrated, “The swim team!” he grits out, “They were _celebrating_ ,” he sneers, “Lahey let his favourites comes over for a couple of drinks after they won state, the fact they were seventeen be damned.”

“Oh god,” is the choked sound of Isaac, behind Scott. He’s staring at Matt with horror, “You were over at mine,” he barely speaks, it’s hardly audible, “You came over for…”

Matt sneers at Isaac, “Some stupid comic,” he shrugs, “I was over there and there was music and then… then… Isaac’s jarhead brother, Camden…”

Isaac shoves past Scott, and he has to grab the beta, to stop him doing anything stupid, “You shut up,” Isaac snaps, finger pointing at Matt, “Shut up about Cam!” Isaac is glaring daggers, body shaking with fury. He looks pissed, and Scott wonders how bad it got after Camden died. For not just Isaac, but his father, and consequently, Isaac again…

Matt laughs, “Your brother almost drowned me!” he snaps, “They thought it was funny.”

“They threw you in.”

Like a predator, Matt’s head snaps around to Stiles.

“You drowned,” Stiles continues, “You drowned because you can’t swim. Boohoo. Get over it,” he snarls, “It doesn’t have to make you a crazy psychopath with a tonne of issues! You know I hear there is a pretty good guidance councillor at school…”

“Stiles,” Scott hisses, because his friend isn’t helping. One bit.

Matt just laughs though, “No, don’t worry, Scott. It’s okay? Do you want to know what it was like? Waking up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath… my parents got me an inhaler, they… they thought I was asthmatic. But every, single time I closed my eyes… I was drowning. Over and over and - and - you know that little white light that they talk about, you see when you die? Well, I didn't see anything. Just darkness. Everything was dark.”

And Scott thinks he might just be able to feel sorry for Matt, except he’s still got a gun to the Sheriff.

“I’d see them at school,” Matt laughs, “Sean, Jessica, Bennett, Tucker, Kara, Camden… and they… they couldn’t even look at me,” he shakes his head, “I never told anyone,” he whispers, “I never said a word - but then at the funeral - Argent’s funeral - I was taking photos and just by chance _Lahey_ got in one of the photos. And I just… I was _furious_. So, _so_ angry. I hated that bastard, and I wanted to see him dead.”

“No…” Isaac whispers.

“Then he was,” Matt smirks, “Don’t tell me you’re not happy, Isaac?” Isaac just looks grim, like he can’t decide what to think, “That’s all I had to do,” the photographer shrugs, “I took their photo and then they died. I met Jackson on the night of the full moon, when he asked me to restore that video. And I… I knew he had killed Lahey for me. I knew he’d kill again. God--“ Matt’s laugh is disbelieving, “All I had to do was take their picture. Then Jackson would take their life. And…” he grins, like he knows a joke they don’t, “Did you know, Stiles, Scott, Isaac? All you little wolves, coyotes, whatever you are… Did you know that your eyes flare in the flash?”

There is a click of claws and that is their only warning before the kanima appears from behind Scott and Isaac. It slashes out, and Isaac and Scott leaps away to avoid the claws to the back of the neck. Scott ducks under a second slash, then throws himself forwards with a snarl, about ready to lunge for the kanima.

“Scott! Duck!”

It’s Allison. She’s at the end of the corridor, and Scott doesn’t hesitate, because when Allison tells you to duck, you duck. Scott throws himself flat just as a crossbow bolt punches through Jackson’s throat.

 

Allison can’t see clearly what’s happening, but the kanima is attacking the wolves, and Matt is holding a gun to the Sheriff. That’s all she needs to know to shoot but now Jackson…

Jackson, who is currently more lizard than human, wide yellow eyes, scales everywhere-- Jackson, who currently has a crossbow bolt through his throat--

He snarls; silver teeth flashing as one clawed hand reaches up towards his throat. It grasps the end of the arrow, the tip smeared black with blood, and then it tugs--

“Oh god…” Allison chokes out, because that is disgusting. The arrow was straight through the throat but the kanima is still tugging it out like it’s a splinter. It hasn’t even fazed it, the yellow eyes are blinking as if it’s a mild irritation.

In the background Malia and Stiles are staring wide-eyed at the kanima, and Isaac and Scott are staggering back. Allison’s instinct is to shout to Scott, to warn him…

But she can’t trust Scott. “Sti-iles…” she shouts to instead, eyes still fixed on the kanima, “The hunters! They’re coming!”

She hears him swear, a second before there is a horrible wet gurgle as the arrow finally comes free from Jackson’s throat, and with a snarl the kanima turns around, gaze landing on Allison. She freezes, and then with one frantic glance at the wolves, she turns and runs. The kanima is between them and her and she’s in no position to do anything right now. She skids towards the door, then decides against it, spinning around the corner.

The kanima - Jackson - takes off after her. It bounces off the walls, clattering against the door and then after her.

The door bursts open, and she chances a glance over her shoulder to see Derek, taking the situation in, and then he takes off after the kanima. Isaac appears behind him and Allison turns, relieved that she’s got some back up at least. Even if they are wolves.

 

The kanima takes off after Allison and Isaac lunges after it. He doesn’t reach the end of the corridor before the door slams open, Derek and Peter appearing with wide-eyes.

“What the--“ Derek doesn’t hang around long. He just about manages to take in the scene before he spots the kanima and goes after it. Isaac follows and Peter just pauses, glancing between Scott and the direction his nephew went.

“Stiles!” Malia shouts out suddenly, and Scott whirls around, just in time to see Stiles throw himself at a door. It doesn’t budge, and Stiles look frantic, like a caged animal except he’s not caged, he’s just been barricaded out because Matt and his dad…

Matt and his dad are gone.

The cry of pain from Stiles’ throat is a pitiful thing. He backs away, looking like he’s about to dart off down another corridor, but Malia stops him, “Wait…” she says… “Stiles…”

“He’s got my dad,” Stiles chokes out, “He’s got my…”

“And we’ve got a plan!” Scott snaps, “We’ve got a plan, okay?”

“But the hunters…”

“We have a plan!” Scott repeats, “Stiles… just listen…”

“We have a plan!” Peter steps fully into the room, and Scott freezes, because Stiles doesn’t know. This is the first time Stiles and Peter have been in a room together properly since Peter probably told Stiles something along the line of ‘hurt Scott’ and left him to it. And the other wolf still hasn’t been told about his old alpha’s resurrection. But Stiles… Stiles’ gaze just skims over the resurrected wolf. “We have a plan,” Peter repeats, “But it requires you all to play your parts.”

“There’s no time,” Stiles snaps at Peter, and it might be the adrenaline, or the worry for his father, but Stiles seems to be coping quite well with Peter’s alive status. “Allison can only hold the kanima off for so long and there are hunters as well. And I don’t even know where Matt is, but he has my dad and your mom is coming…”

“Wait… my _mom_?”

“Well now we’ve definitely got to find Matt. Have you seen his mom? She’s hot.”

“Shut up!” Scott snaps, and Stiles freezes.

“What…” Stiles goes pale, and Scott can’t work out why, can’t see the problem…

That’s when he puts everything together.

 _“I see him everywhere…”_ The distant gazes, the words muttered to someone who isn’t there… Scott had known Stiles hadn’t been alright after what had happened with Peter but he hadn’t realised that… he hadn’t quite expected this.

Stiles was so used to Peter being there, he couldn’t even tell the difference between what was in his mind and what was now horribly and tragically real.

And he… he’s still staring at Scott with that broken expression, begging him, “Scott… please tell me… he’s not… he wasn’t…”

“Stiles?”

Stiles’ head snaps around to meet Peter’s gaze, wide-eyed.

“Hey, Stiles,” Peter grins, “Miss me?”

Scott’s not expecting the long pause before any reaction. In fact the pause is so long, Malia actually asks, “Is everything okay?” before Stiles blinks, and makes a decision.

He lunges for Peter’s throat.

 

Allison’s running. Straight down the corridor and not looking back, she throws herself through the door at the end into some kind of office space, only having seconds to be thankful that the door wasn’t locked before she’s spinning around, ducking down the wall.

The door bursts open behind her and with a screech the kanima flies out, landing on all fours and taking a moment to eye their new arena. The new battleground.

Allison ducks out of sight behind a desk, and so when the door slams open again she has no idea who it is. There is a snarl though, so it’s wolf, and she grabs another arrow, notching it to her crossbow. She takes a deep breath, feeling air whistle down her throat seconds before she straightens, turning sharply and neatly. She brings the weapons up, swinging it around until the kanima falls into her sights and then fires.

The tail lashes and the arrow snaps before it even reaches the monster. With another snarl, Jackson’s head turns, attention on her. He’s a full lizard now. There is no humanity left in those reptilian yellow eyes. Allison wonders if it’s going to be kinder to put the creature down than let it live.

There is a roar and Derek jumps out towards the creature. Allison repositions herself, stepping sideways along the row of desks and computers and filing cabinets, keeping one eye on Derek and the kanima. Derek punches but the kanima dodges, kicks out, Derek skids under the limb and rolls to avoid the claws that come crashing down.

Isaac appears then, and it’s the two wolves against one lizard.

And even Allison can see they’re vastly outmanoeuvred. The kanima is too fast, ducking their claws and dodging their blows. It looks mildly irritated by them, but not threatened.

She shoots it again. The bolt buries itself in Jackson’s chest and the creature Jackson has become barely flinches, just screeches again and with a powerful jump leaps straight out from between the two werewolves and lands on a nearby office desk.

Its gaze is fixed on Allison.

She grabs another bolt, bringing her crossbow up. The kanima is already leaping down, and she never gets time to fire, instead is forced to use her crossbow as a club, hitting out.

There is the sound of a crossbow bolt being fired and across the room Isaac ducks with wide eyes as the bolt buries itself into the wall behind him. Allison’s jaw drops, and she stares in horror at the snapped string of her bow.

The kanima snaps at her again and without a thought Allison tosses the useless weapon to one side. She tugs out her knives from their sheaths on her arms, spinning them around and stepping backwards, away from the angry lizard.

That’s the moment that the first guns start firing.

 

The windows shatter and they all drop to the ground, except the kanima, which just looks pissed. It shakes off the bullets and in one leap, bounds away. Derek loses sight of it when the first smoke bomb is tossed through, and he sees Allison vanishing out of another door.

He makes a grab for Isaac. “Come on,” he grunts, “Get up.”

“That’s the thing,” Isaac groans, “I can’t…” he’s clutching his leg, and he finally drops his arm away from it. His hand falls limply to the ground and Derek winces at the thin slices made by the kanima’s claws, tearing through the jeans.

“Fine,” Derek grits his teeth and slings Isaac’s arm around his shoulder, “I thought I told you to stay with Boyd and Erica,” he wonders if complaining will make the beta listen to him some more. Isaac just mumbles something that sounds like an insult and lets himself be half dragged out of there.

Because now it’s not just Matt and the kanima in play.

The hunters have arrived as well.

 

“Stop!”

It’s a roar; a sharp barked command that has Stiles freezing, claws still extended as he glares at Peter. The other wolf is still in the process of looking shocked, like he hadn’t expected that reaction and had gotten no further than processing it. He hadn’t even reacted…

God, Stiles would have managed it. He could have ended Peter there and then and Scott…

Scott had stopped him.

“You can’t kill him,” Scott is saying, “You can’t--“

 “Why not?” he interrupts, spinning around with a snarl to face his friend, “After what he did…”

Across the room Peter laughs, “Oh, do you _really_ wanna go there?” he chuckles.

Stiles is sick of listening to reason. He wishes he’d ripped Matt apart when he’d had the chance, but now his dad… He steps towards Peter, feeling his fangs against his lip.

“Stiles - no!” Scott physically steps in front of him, eyes flashing gold. There is orange bleeding into them and that - that is actually fascinating enough to make Stiles stop, even if there wasn’t that weight to Scott’s words that sound almost like a command, “We need him,” Scott emphasises, “He’s helping us.” His eyes burn that odd colour, half-way between gold and…

Stiles visibly restrains himself, claws curling bloody imprints into his palm. “What the plan?” he asks, gaze sliding away so he’s not looking at Peter or Scott. He fixes his sights on where Malia is standing, staring at everything with fascination and something that should be terror, but just looks like confusion.

His friend relaxes, shoulders slumping. He doesn’t move from his position between Peter and Stiles, “The Hales have information on the kanima. We need to use it. We need to find out how to fix this all.”

“Now?” Stiles demands, “But my dad…”

Scott looks torn, like he doesn’t know what to do. “Yes, _now_ ,” he says, reluctantly, “Once Jackson’s saved and back to normal, Matt has no weapon. Nothing. We can stop him then.”

“Saved?” Stiles laughs, bitterly, “You think Jackson can still be saved?”

“I thought you could still be saved,” Scott says quietly, “And you were pretty far gone.”

He falls silent because that hurts. He steps backwards, “I need to get my dad,” he says, “You understand that, right?”

There is the sound of someone sucking their breath in, and Peter sidesteps back into Stiles’ eye line. He glares at his former alpha, and Peter ignores him. It makes a change. “As nice as your heartfelt conversation is, there’s another problem. We’re going to need Lydia.”

That revelation has barely hit them, than there is the audible sound of a car pulling up outside and the door opening. And Stiles knows that heartbeat; recognises it, how can he not with the blood relation standing right here next to him?

Melissa McCall has finally arrived.

As if on cue, that’s when the gun fire starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter that much. It was hard to write because there was a lot going on and I was running out of ideas, but I hope it reads okay. 
> 
> Thanks for the support and comments!


	19. Glass

Scott flinches at the sound of gunfire. “Oh god…” he chokes, “Allison…” he steps backwards, trying to work out where the sound is coming from. He turns to the other three shapeshifters, and his gaze is drawn to where Stiles’ face is pale. He looks sick and Scott wonders if the moon is still affecting him.

“Stiles?” he asks, taking a measured step towards his friend, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s your mom…” Stiles’ fangs flash down as he worries at his lip with the pointed canines. Scott doesn’t know what he means, can’t work it out, but then he hears the sound underneath the gunfire.

The sound of a car door slamming.

“What?” Scott’s eyes widen, and he ignores Stiles’ personal space, grabbing onto his friend’s shoulders and shaking Stiles until the amber eyes finally focus on him, “What are you ta--“

Malia slams into him, knocking him away. “Don’t t-t- _touch_ him,” she bares her teeth, even though there are no fangs. She doesn’t have the control for that. Scott steps backwards as the coyote slides neatly between them.

“Woah,” Stiles tugs her backwards by one arm, “Malia, it’s okay… calm down…” he steps backwards, drawing Malia to him, and she trembles at his side, looking confused.

Scott decides that ignoring the girl is probably the safest bet, “What do you mean,” Scott looks over Malia’s shoulder at Stiles, “What _the hell_ is my mom doing here?”

And he’s said something wrong. He’s done something wrong, because Stiles’ face creases and he curls his lips in a silent snarl. “You wanted us to get evidence,” Stiles snaps, defensively, “Your mom saw Matt at the hospital.”

“She wasn’t meant to be here!” Scott feels frustration bubbling at his veins and he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at his scalp, “This wasn’t meant to happen…”

“So what?” Stiles steps forwards, angrily, “It’s okay if _my_ _dad_ gets hurt, but your mom - she’s off limits?” he scoffs, tone derisive and scathing, “Keeping her out of this isn’t going to keep her safe, it’s going to get her _killed_. And you know what? At this point, telling her will get her killed too.”

“Such a pessimist,” Peter drawls from the corner.

“And you--“ Stiles rounds on him, “You can shut up! I’ve had enough of your inane stupid comments - seriously, what help is he going to be?” he says suddenly to Scott, “I still vote we kill him.”

“NO KILLING!” Scott growls out, “Stiles, can you just…” he pales suddenly when he hears the door opening. “Mom…” he mutters.

“Well go on, then,” Stiles sneers cruelly, and gestures to the front door, “Before the hunters find her.” Scott has forgotten how much of an asshole Stiles can be when threatened. Because he’s defensive - he’s like a prickly ball of anger and fear. “Meanwhile…” Stiles spins neatly around, “I’m going to find my dad…”

That’s when the door slams open and Scott lurches towards the figure standing there. He hears Stiles snort, and Peter says something, only for Stiles to snap a response, but he can’t hear them over the sound of his heart racing.

“Mom…” he appears in front of her so suddenly that she jumps, hand on her heart.

“Scott. Wow - you scared me…” she laughs, “What are you doing here?” she asks.

Scott plasters a smile to her face, “What do you mean… what are you doing--“

Her gaze drifts over his shoulder, “Ah - Stiles. Is your dad about? What is it exactly that you two wanted to talk to me about?” her voice lowers, “Is this about the murders… did that kid…?”

Scott feels like ice, because what the hell did Stiles tell her? He opens his mouth to respond, and that is of course when there is the sharp retort of a gun being fired.

 

The hunters are here. The hunters - her family - are here. Allison ducks through another door and emerges into the garage, parked cars everywhere and she slows down. The gunfire has stopped for the moment, and she holds her breath, ears straining for a sound.

There is a crash and she jumps in alarm as Derek and Isaac stumble out of the door behind her. Isaac is draped over Derek’s shoulder, and upon seeing her Derek slumps in relief, staggering to a parked car and sliding down, using it as shelter as the pair try to catch their breath. Allison darts towards them, “You guys okay?”

“Isaac got paralyzed,” Derek grits out, “And there was definitely some wolfsbane in those smoke grenades.”

Allison winces, “I didn’t tell them,” she says, “But I…” she stops, chewing on her lip, then decides that now isn’t the time to lie, “I think Scott did.”

“Scott?”

“I heard him talking to Gerard,” Allison admits, “At the rave. Gerard knows. About you and Isaac and Jackson and Stiles…”

Derek lets his head crash back with a loud thump against the parked car, “Dammit,” he growls. Next to him Isaac looks like a kicked puppy.

“Scott wouldn’t do that,” he says, “He must have some sort of plan…”

“Well if he has…” Allison shrugs, “he hasn’t told any of us.” She pokes her head over the car, but the garage is quiet, “What do we do now?” she asks, and winces when she spots Isaac, his claws curling into his leg. She leans over to see the blood welling up under his claws, “Uh… Isaac… what are you doing? That’s disgusting…”

Isaac has an expression of pain on his face, “Trying to make my body get rid of the poison,” he mumbles, “Speed up the healing… at least that’s what Derek taught us…”

“Well, Derek’s lesson’s suck.”

“Derek doesn’t care,” Derek snipes back, “Is it working?”

“I can move my toes.”

“Oh my god.” Allison looks on in disgust at the wolves, “Tell you what, I’ll go try and talk to my insane family. Where’s Matt and Jackson?”

“Matt’s with the Sheriff. He had him at gunpoint,” Isaac mumbles, “And there was… he pulled up his shirt and he’s… his body was all scaly. Like the kanima. I have no idea what’s happening… neither does he, but I think he wants to know…”

Derek looks puzzled, “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “But it’s probably because he broke the rules.”

“Rules? There are rules?”

The alpha nods, “The universe balances things out. The kanima is a weapon of vengeance to kill murderers and Matt… he’s using the kanima to kill people who don’t deserve it. And killing people himself.”

Allison’s brows furrow, “So if Matt breaks the rules, he becomes the kanima? That… that doesn’t sound good. We need to find the others. Any idea where they’ll be?” she glances around the garage again, but it’s still all quiet, “Can Isaac move?”

“I’ll gift wrap him and give him to Peter until he can.”

“ _Peter_?” she stares in horror at the pair, “Did you just say…”

The alpha looks grave, “Lydia resurrected him,” he tells her, “Now, really isn’t the time,” Derek continues, moving into a crouch. He scoops up Isaac again, the beta wincing as his own claws dig deeper into his leg. “I’ll head back into the station to look for the others. You find the hunters.”

“Okay,” Allison says, watching as Derek stands and begins moving for the door they had burst through.

The sharp sound of a gun has Allison flinching in alarm, and the horrible thought of ‘I think the hunters have found us’ shooting through her head, before her brain kicks into gear and she’s moving, throwing herself up and forwards to stand between Derek and Isaac.

“Go!” she snaps at them, and Derek is groaning. He’s probably been shot, and she just gestures again at the door, “Get out of here!”

She ducks as another shot rings out and swings up her compound bow, knocking an arrow in place. She hears the door slam behind her.

There are footsteps, and then a startled voice calls out in alarm. “Allison?”

Her heart stutters as her dad steps into view.

 

“Tighter,” Matt mutters, “They have to be tighter,” he twists the cuffs in viciously, until John can feel them cutting off his circulation. “There,” Matt steps back, triumphantly.

“You know, Matt, you don’t have to do this,” his voice remains calm. He’s been doing this his whole life; he’s not going to panic now. “If you put down the gun, call off the kanima, then we can talk…”

“I know what will happen,” Matt snaps, “And it will be that I see _everyone_ that has wronged me _suffer_ at my hands. They deserved it. Their crimes went unpunished and then… then fate gave me Jackson. Like the furies from Greek Mythology coming down to punish Orestes.”

The Sheriff squints, “Was that the guy who stabbed out his eyes?”

“That’s Oedipus, you idiot,” Matt actually rolls his eyes, “The furies are weapons of vengeance. They had tears of blood and snakes for hair. If there was a crime that had gone unpunished, the furies would do the punishing. Jackson… Jackson is my fury.” He grins, and there is a click of claws. From the shadows behind Matt, Jackson emerges.

Except it’s not Jackson. Not anymore. It’s a monster that looks human, except covered with scales, monstrous claws and yellow eyes.

John thinks he’s never been trained for this.

“You stay here,” Matt tells him, as if he was planning on shrugging off the handcuffs and walking away. He’s half-way through slipping them off as it is, just so he can punch the kid, but now with the kanima there watching him he doesn’t know what he can do.

Matt straightens, stepping back, and the kanima slinks forwards to take his place. It paces, snarling at him, but not moving any closer. John winces, and when he looks up for Matt, the kid is gone.

He’s not prepared for this. He’s not prepared for monsters that crawl out of the night with glowing eyes and fangs.

He hadn’t been prepared to find that in his own son.

The sheriff wonders if he failed as a father sometimes. If he had had his head so immersed with his work, with the murders, that he missed the moment an older man crept into his son's life, his son's head and twisted claws into Stiles' neck. He keeps himself awake at night wondering if Peter was a replacement father for Stiles because he hadn't done a good enough job.

Which is why it’s his worst nightmare - not the kanima pacing in front of him ready to eat him if he moves, not the psychotic kid with the gun, but the moment Stiles bursts in to the rescue, following by the former-coyote and a not-dead Peter Hale.

 

“Is that--“ Melissa begins to ask, but Stiles isn’t hanging around to listen. He needs to find his dad.

“No,” Stiles barely whispers, and then spins back to the locked door. He throws himself at it, and behind him Peter rolls his eyes.

“Allow me,” the psychopath purrs, extending one claw. He slots it into the lock like he’s lock-picking or something. Stiles reminds himself to copy all the keys to the Sheriff’s station as soon as everything is over.

“What is that? Is that gunfire?” Melissa asks in rising panic. Scott is trying to reassure her, so Stiles just leans on the wall, watching Peter grit his teeth over the lock.

“Why the hell are you doing this?” he drawls in a passable imitation of the other wolf. Peter’s not an alpha now. Stiles doesn’t need to see the other wolf’s eyes colours to know. He can feel it, or rather the lack of it. There’s no bond, no link, nothing. Despite this it’s still reassuring when as his comment, Peter flashes blue eyes, confirming his suspicions.

“Doing what?” Peter sneers, and gives up lock picking in favour of trying to rip the lock off, “Helping you?” the other wolf laughs, “I thought you knew me better than that.”

Stiles grins, shoving Peter out of the way, “I do,” he says, “So you should know what I’m asking.” Peter knocks him aside, taking up position at the door again. Stiles regains his balance, exchanging a silent glance with Malia.

“And you should know what exactly I’m getting out of this,” Peter smirks, before snapping the door handle clean off. The door swings open and Stiles pauses only a moment to meet his former-alpha’s gaze, before sliding through.

“Scott, what’s happening?” Melissa demands. Stiles glances over his shoulder. Peter and Malia are behind him, and he can see Melissa hovering in the background. He turns back around, trying to catch a scent. He can smell Matt and his dad and fear and anger and ahead of him is where they lock up the drunk and disorderly and occasional criminal.

“Scott, why aren’t you talking to me…?”

He rounds the corner and the door is wide open. He spots his dad _right_ _there_ , sitting handcuffed to the bench.

“Dad,” Stiles moves forwards in relief, and his father’s head snaps up, eyes widening and his mouth beginning to form a warning when something crashes into the blue-eyed wolf. He is knocked to one side, and he instantly rolls, just as something crashes down onto the floor next to him. He sees claws and scales and rolls away again, just in time to dodge the second set of claws.

The kanima snarls over him - and wasn’t Allison meant to be keeping the kanima busy?

There is a snarl and Malia throws herself at the kanima, lashing out. It kicks her backwards and she crashes into the wall besides his dad, sliding down and blinking dazed.

“What the hell - oh my god…”

Stiles can’t pay attention to Melissa, reaching out backwards and grabbing the first thing his hand touches. He'd been hoping for a fire extinguisher, instead he finds a metal crowbar. That will work just as well, he hopes. The kanima turns back to him--

He hits it around the head. There is a crack that is definitely bone breaking. That’s not going to keep it down for long. Stiles uses the much needed break to scramble to his feet, and lash out again. He’s sick of getting his claws dirty, so he keeps a hold of the crowbar, using it to hit out.

The kanima catches the crowbar in one reptilian hand and Stiles flinches back, dropping it quickly as the clawed grip tightens, the metal twisting with a horrible screech. Seconds later, the damn lizard drops the ruined metal in favour of backhanding him. It feels like a lorry hit him, and he crashes through the air. His vision whirls around, black and white and he hits something soft. There is soft panting and warm hands checking he’s okay. He blinks his eyes open to Malia staring down at him in concern.

Stiles glances, dazed, back up at the fight, just in time to see Peter sidestep the claws of the kanima as if he’s not even going to bother to fight.

That movement does however have the problem of putting Melissa, still standing in the doorway, in the direct path of the cold blooded reptilian.

 

“What is that? What… Scott…”

His mother’s in shock, Scott thinks. She’s standing there, staring at Stiles and Malia fighting the kanima, and he has no words, no explanations…

He’d pictured how he’d tell his mother a hundred times, but never had he imagined it going like this.

Time seems to freeze and Peter sidles out of the way with a disinterested tilt to his head as if this isn’t even worth his time. Melissa flinches, expecting claws, but Scott gets there first.

He punches Jackson in the head. It’s strangely satisfying, but the monster standing in front of him doesn’t even look fazed. It raises its claws, about to bring them down on top of him when there is a wet squelch.

Jackson writhes. He can’t really keep calling it Jackson - not the inhuman thing in front of him. Certainly not when he’s been impaled by what looks like a bent metal crowbar.

“That was my crowbar, asshole,” Stiles glares at Peter, the latter of who had rescued the metal from the floor, just to whirl around dramatically and stab Jackson with it. Not he’s just eyeing the shaking, convulsing kanima with what looks like disgust.

“Is that gonna kill it?” Malia asks dubiously, her voice a feral growl.

As if to answer, the kanima snarls, dropping to all fours and leaping up. Scott grabs his mom, dragging her to the ground as the lizard leaps straight over them, barrelling down the corridor. “I think not,” Peter hums, “It gives us more time though…”

“Scott…” Melissa is staring at him, “Scott… what…?” she sounds so lost and confused and…

And Scott is wolfed out. There are claws and fangs and bad facial hair and they didn’t warn anybody about _that_ happening at puberty.

His mom stares at him in abject horror, as if he has some disease she can’t cure. Which he does.

It’s called lycanthropy.

“Melissa…” there is a click and the screech of metal as Stiles doesn’t even both to pick the lock, he just rips the handcuffs apart so his dad can stand, stepping towards where Melissa is crouched on the floor, staring at Scott.

“Mom…” he reaches out and she flinches back. He stiffens, and removes himself from where he stood in front of her, “Mom…” he repeats, now standing, “It’s okay… I swear, it’s just… I’m a werewolf.” It sounds so stupid, “I’m a werewolf… Stiles and I both… that’s all…”

“ _All_?” Stiles sneers, “Neglect to mention the asshole who bit us, thanks for that, by the way,” Peter gives him a one second smirk of contentment back at him, “Oh and there is a killer lizard called a kanima which is being controlled by our insane classmate who wants to kill us, there are hunters which includes Scott’s girlfriend and the most grouchy guy ever…”

“Stiles,” the Sheriff says, voice calm, but it’s enough to shut Stiles up.

Melissa glances from Scott to where Stiles and Malia stand, the pair both flashing fangs.

“Melissa,” the Sheriff says, calmly, “It’s okay,” his presence is doing a lot to calm Scott’s mother down, but not enough.

“Lydia,” Stiles says suddenly, head snapping up. He sidesteps around Melissa, and pauses to turn to Malia. “Keep an eye on my dad?” he asks.

“But…”

“Please.”

“Stiles, where are you going…?” the Sheriff begins to ask.

“Look after Melissa,” Stiles says over Malia’s shoulder, then glances back at the girl, “Will you stay with him?”

After a moment’s deliberation Malia nods, “Promise,” she says, stepping back towards the Sheriff.

“I should probably…” Stiles has already vanished down the hall and Peter doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence before disappearing after him. Scott’s not sure if he likes the idea of Stiles and Lydia - the two people who are most susceptible to Peter - spending extended periods of time together with Peter present.

But he doesn’t really have much choice.

 

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Allison demands, desperately. She lowers her bow, slowly letting the string go slack. Her father is staring at her in horror, and she takes several careful measured steps towards him, slowly coming to a halt in front of him, “Dad? Are you okay? Where’s mom? Was the full moon… was it okay?”

“Have you picked a side, then?” Chris asks, sadly, lowering his gun and staring at her. His gaze drifts to where the two wolves had been only moments before, “Are you working with them?”

“I’m working to protect people!” she shouts back, hand jabbing to one side to make her point, “We know everything, we’re going to fix this! I’m not running in and shooting at our _allies_!”

Chris scoffs, “Allies?” he asks, “Do you know what they do?” his voice breaks and he stops to take a shuddering breath. “Now isn’t a good time,” he whispers, “It’s not… but Allison…”

She stops, all her anger leaving her suddenly, “What is it?” she asks, “Dad… what is it…?” she looks around again, and it’s just Chris. Just Chris and her mom… “What happened with mom?”

Chris stares at her, his eyes so, so sad. He swallows.

“Dad. What happened with mom? Did you get through the full moon? Did you…” she stops, suddenly, “Dad, please, tell me she didn’t…” a sob chokes in her throat, “SAY SOMETHING!”

Her father opens his mouth and finally tells her. He finally says the words that cut through her sharper than any knife or claws. “She’s dead.”

Allison’s world shatters.

 

Lydia’s heartbeat hits Stiles’ senses as if he’s picking her up on radar or something. One minute there is nothing, the next there is. Amongst the guns and various other heartbeats of the building’s occupants, Stiles is the first to be aware of another car pulling up and Lydia suddenly being there, answering Scott’s text.

He meets her at the door. She’s barely had time to step inside and close it behind her than Stiles is there. She turns, eyes widening, seconds before Stiles slams her back against the door she’s just walked through. “What the hell did you do?” he demands, in a low, angry tone.

“Are you kidding me?” Lydia snaps, sounding disbelieving, “Have you _any_ idea what it’s like out there? There are hunters everywhere and now you… you…” her gaze drifts over his shoulder, spotting Peter, “ _Oh_ ,” she says, dryly, “That?” she avoids meeting Stiles’ eyes, “I had no choice,” she shrugs, as if there is nothing she should be worried about. She shoves him away, and Stiles lets himself be pushed backwards, giving her some breathing room.

Stiles laughs, “You had no choice?” he repeats, in disbelief, “There is _always_ a choice and you… you chose to bring Peter back. You KNOW what he did!”

“I know what you did,” Lydia’s eyes light up with a fire suddenly, and her one hand coils into a fist. It’s the same arm that she has scars from a bite on. Oddly enough, Stiles thinks, it’s the same arm he was bitten on, back in the woods that one night.

“So what?” he spreads out his arms, “You gave him a second chance?” He curls his lips in scorn, “He’ll turn around the moment our backs are turned and tear us apart. You think we can trust him? You think he's changed his ways? Or did you do this out of some petty need to get back at me?” he takes another step back, mocking her.

Peter’s alive. Peter was meant to be dead. He was meant to be nothing more than a nightmare in Stiles’ head.

But Lydia… Lydia had made him a reality again.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, airily, head tilting to one side, “I told you though,” she defends herself, “I told you I was seeing things and what did you do?” Stiles bristles, because she’s accusing him now of not stopping her. He had tried, and she had turned around and blown wolfsbane straight in his face. Lydia laughs at his silence, “I’ll tell you what you did. You. Did. Nothing.”

Stiles glances over his shoulder, and wisely Peter has kept his distance, setting up the laptop. “I didn’t know he was real,” Stiles’ voice is barely audible, and Lydia has to lean towards him to hear what he’s saying, “I saw him too, and I knew it was all in my head. I knew it wasn’t real. But you…”

Lydia’s expression breaks, and she presses her lips together mutely, “I thought it was in my head too,” she whispers, “But it wasn’t. And then that night at the rave... Peter broke the ash line. Or he used me to do it… I don't know and _you_ out of _all_ people should understand how that feels, Stiles, not knowing whether you did something because you wanted to or because someone forced you to.”

Her eyes are pools of emotion that burn him, because she’s right. She’s completely right and somehow that hurts even more.

She glances over his shoulder and fixes her gaze on Peter, “So yes,” she nods, sharply, “Yes - I'm sorry I brought him back, but I'm not sorry because at least now I'm alone in my own mind.”

Stiles doesn't say anything because she's right. He knows how she feels. He's angry at her but blame her? He doesn't blame her. He can't. He can only blame Peter.

“As fascinating as your conversation must be,” Peter shouts over to them, “We still have a situation on our hands.”

Lydia sighs, and Stiles takes another step backwards from her. They’re sort of even now, at least, and he meets her gaze with a nod. “We need you to fix Jackson,” he tells her, “Peter has the Hale bestiary…”

“Let’s see…” Lydia shoves past him. She casts such a scorn and hate filled glance at Peter that Stiles is surprised the former-alpha doesn’t burst into flames, but as it is Peter just smirks and continues typing stuff into his laptop. Stiles trails behind her, feeling oddly settled, despite Peter still _standing there_ as if nothing had happened. He still feels the burn of anger, but it’s duller now, and he knows he’s not going to do anything rash.

But he’ll get the recipe of how to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail from Lydia.

Just in case.

 

They say there are five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. And as the realisation hits her, Allison’s first instinct is to deny it.

“ _No_. No - this is… it’s just another kind of sick, training session… this isn’t real… it was meant to be fine. We talked about it. She was going to be fine… she didn’t…”

“She honoured you with her dying breath,” Chris whispers.

“ _Honoured_?” Allison screams at him, “She would have done me more honour by _LIVING_!” It’s her fault, she thinks. She should have been there. She should have been there with her, prevented this from happening…

Chris steps forwards and she steps backwards, disgusted with him suddenly. She’s disgusted with herself. “It’s not your fault, sweetie,” he tells her gently, “Allison, it was her choice. Understand? Her choice! I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” he’s got his own tears in his eyes.

“And what did Gerard say, _huh_? What the _hell_ did he tell her?” Tears are streaming down her face but she doesn’t care.

“I don’t know,” Chris shakes his head, “I don’t know… I’m sorry, I don’t…” That’s the moment she crashes into his arms, and he drops his gun, wrapping his arms around her. She curls into him, letting him reassure her, “It’s okay, sweetie, shhh,” he murmurs into her ears and she clenches her eyes closed, trying to find a point of peace inside of her.

At the moment though it’s like her emotions are undergoing an earthquake, and every time she thinks she’s found a stable point they are uprooted, and another sob wells up.

Eventually though, the waves subside. “Who was it?” she asks, her dad’s shirt wet against her cheek, “The alpha that bit mom - who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Chris shakes his head, “She didn’t say.”

That’s when a loud voice echoes out over the garage, “I hate to break up this touching family moment, Allison…” Matt steps into view, with Jackson at his heels like a mutated dog, “But I’m going to need a copy of that bestiary your family prize so highly. And not just a few pages.” His head tilts to one side, “I’m going to need all of it.”


	20. Plan

“There is a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its Christian name.”

Stiles snorts. Lydia shoots him an annoyed look, and he grins wryly, “Well in that case,” the wolf leans back, fingers locked together as he stretches, “I’m never gonna be cured, since nobody can pronounce my name.”

Peter actually pauses, turning to Stiles, “You mean _Stiles_ isn’t your actual name? Oh thank god…”

“Turn around,” Stiles spins his finger to demonstrate, “And get back to work. What the hell is your point?”

Peter curls his lip and glances back at the laptop screen. “Obviously it’s a myth.” He shrugs, “But there’s a basis of truth. Werewolfs, kanimas, even werecoyotes, we’re all essentially shape shifters.”

“Derek likes to say that the shape that you take reflects the person that you are,” Stiles frowns, crossing his arms, “Is he actually right and not just spouting out something he made up?”

Peter nods slowly, “I once told you, Stiles, that the bite isn’t just a gift. It’s an infection. And like every infection it has different symptoms. The coyote - practically the same animal as the wolf - reacts to wolfsbane, the full moon, mountain ash, the same way a werewolf would. A kanima however is stronger. But the price you pay for that is that it is more out of control. It _needs_ someone else to control it.”

“Matt,” Lydia sighs, “Where are you going with this?”

“Names, Lydia,” Peter smiles, and it’s not a nice smile, “Our name defines us. It’s a symbol of who we are. Our identity. But at the moment, that lizard being controlled by Matt… what identity does he have?”

“He’s _Jackson_!” Lydia glares at him, because it is still her ex-boyfriend. Despite the scales and claws, it is still Jackson, the same way Scott is still Scott even when he wolfs out.

“Wait…” Stiles frowns, “The kanima has no identity. Because Jackson has no identity. No pack. He’s an orphan.”

And Lydia feels sick, because Jackson always had to be the best. He had to be the best and better, than anybody else, proving himself to people who had died before he was even born. And he’d wanted to be a werewolf, he’d wanted to be even better than human, and he ended up going above and beyond even a werewolf.

“We need…” Peter scrolls through a document, “To bring him back, by reminding him of his identity. Before he turns into something worse. His current shape is only a beta form… and there is an alpha transformation that he could progress to. We need to save him before that… we need to allow him to see a reflection and to be able to recognise who is staring back at him. We need to use his heart.”

“What heart?” Stiles scoffs, but Peter is gazing at Lydia. Stiles’ eyes flash, and he glances between them, “Oh god,” he looks disgusted, “That’s why we need Lydia, then?”

“Well, you’ve failed there,” Lydia says, shrugging, “Jackson dumped me. He doesn’t love me.”

Peter smiles thinly, “Even someone as burned and as dead on the inside as me, knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love.” His voice grows almost soppy at the end and Stiles shoots him an incredulous look.

“You know I think that might have been the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard you say,” the wolf shrugs, leaning over Peter’s shoulder uncomfortably to look at the laptop, “And believe me I’ve heard a lot of sick ideas from you. So what you’re saying is that Lydia and Jackson need to get laid or he’s going to turn into that?”

“To put it crudely, yes,” Peter sneers, and Lydia just sighs, because it’s not going to work. Jackson doesn’t love her. If he loved her, he would have turned back to human at the pool… he wouldn’t have tried to kill her.

Except… he hadn’t _actually_ tried to kill her. He’d trapped her there, paralyzed Erica, and knocked Derek out of commission, while stalking her, but never actually went for her throat.

“That’s a terrible picture,” Stiles is still snarking to Peter, “Can you make it bigger?”

“Someone actually made an animation,” Peter smirks, “Let’s watch it.” He double clicks, and the video pops up. A screech sounds out and the trio gape at the screen, before Peter slams it closed, “Nope,” he says, quickly, “Maybe not.”

“Jackson’s going to turn into that? That… has wings.”

“I can see that.” Peter looks up at Lydia, “Can you do it?” he asks.

She’s shaking her head slowly when something occurs to her, “He won’t recognise me,” she says, “I’ve been face to face with him before and he… it did nothing. But I think I might have something to help. A key.”

“And this key--“ Lydia begins to reach for a chain around her neck and Stiles rolls his eyes, “Oh, you mean like a literal _key_ key. That one that Jackson was asking about in the library?”

“Yeah - do you think it will work?”

“I think at this point we’re running out of options,” Stiles says grimly.

Lydia’s hand grasps at her neck and her fingers close over mid-air. She tenses, mind-racing. “Uh… there’s just one problem,” she whispers, and she sees Stiles’ expression. He knows what she’s going to say before she says it.

“Lydia…”

“I don’t have the key with me.”

 

“Mom, please. Look at me.”

Scott never wanted his mother to find out like this. He’d planned to tell her eventually, he thinks. He would have had to, and it all would have been okay but…

Not like this.

“Believe me,” the Sheriff just shakes his head at his surroundings, which include a no-longer-coyote that is practically glued to his side. “I didn’t believe it either.”

Melissa numbly closes her eyes, “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what that thing was, or even what you are… or… oh my god, are you on _drugs_? Is that it? Did you take something and it… did it do this?” She opens her eyes and gazes pleadingly at Scott, “Have you been taking drugs?”

Scott feels his jaw drop open, “Have you taken drugs?” he asks, alarmed.

“That’s not…” Melissa’s face creases, and Scott wonders if he should be concerned that she doesn’t answer him, “What are you?”

“Werewolf,” Scott says, and he gives his mother another few seconds to process that, “Stiles and I… we went into the woods looking for a dead body and got bitten. Just before school started…”

“And I’m not even going to start on what a stupid idea that was,” the Sheriff mutters and rolls his eyes.

Scott refrains from pointing out it was Stiles’ idea. He doesn’t blame his friend - not really. He’d followed along after all, and they’d both come out of it with healing bite marks. Strangely his mother is relaxing a bit. She’s probably relieved he’s not on drugs, even if the answers is something as insane as ‘werewolf’. “So when your grades took a downward turn that was because…”

“Because of the werewolf thing, yeah.”

She still looks scared. And she won’t let him touch her, so it’s the Sheriff that wraps an arm of comfort around Scott’s mother. Malia hovers, and she glances at Scott as if for guidance. But Scott has no idea what to do.

Malia spins around suddenly, and a feral snarl works it’s way out of her throat, just as Derek and Isaac appear, staggering through the doorway. The once-coyote looks about to leap forwards, so Scott holds her back with a hand on her shoulder.

“Is that hypothetical situation getting any less hypothetical?” Derek is growling out at Isaac, the latter seeming barely able to move.

Isaac lets out a hiss of pain as his alpha accidentally steers him into the wall, “Be careful!”

The Sheriff bristles at the pair, glancing between them, “Derek, right?” he asks the alpha, “What’s happening over there?”

“Allison is--“ Isaac cuts off with a groan as Derek proceeds to drop him on the floor. Malia pokes at him with one leg, nudging him upright and Isaac frowns at her in thanks, “Allison is trying to get the hunters to back off. I think Chris shot Derek…”

“I healed,” the alpha says gruffly.

Scott is alarmed suddenly, “And Matt? Where’s Matt? And Jackson?”

The Sheriff steps forwards, “Scott, you are not going back to confront them… it is not your job to protect everybody…”

“I’ve got to do something!” Scott insists.

Stiles’ father looks torn, and he glances down the corridor to where Stiles had vanished with Peter, “You’re children,” he tells them, “I can’t have you putting yourself in danger. I already have four dead deputies. I don’t want to lose you, or Stiles or Malia…”

“Can you finish this?” Melissa interrupts suddenly, meeting her son’s gaze, “Scott, can you stop this, right now? The killing… all of it?”

He stares back at her and nods, “Yes,” he promises.

“Then go.” Melissa nods to herself, “You get that son of a bitch, got it?” she’s still scared, but the shock has passed, and so Scott feels happy enough to throw himself forwards into her arms. She tenses up, and then relaxes, clinging back to him, just as tightly as he is to her.

“I’m still Scott,” he whispers in her ear, “I’m still your son. Just with claws and glowing eyes and…”

“I know,” she replies, “Now go. Go and finish this.”

 

“Matt,” Chris steps backwards, letting his hands drop from where they had been holding Allison at arm’s length from him. She keeps herself turned to him, blinking away tears from her eyes and resolving herself as she slips one blade from the sheath along her arm… “Matt,” Chris says again, “You don’t have to do this.”

Matt just sneers, “You guys really have no clue do you?” he laughs, “I need the bestiary.”

“It’s not ours!” Allison shouts to him, “It’s Gerard’s.”

“And? He’s your _grandfather_! Surely you can get that for me? Just one little book?” Allison bites her lip to refrain from pointing out that it’s a computer file. “Or what about you - Chris, can I call you Chris?” Matt doesn’t wait for a reply, “How about: you get me the bestiary… or I tell Jackson to kill Allison.”

Allison picks that moment to whirl around, and she throws her blade. It flies through the air, whistling slightly and then slams into warm flesh.

She’s not hit Matt. She could have so, so easily, but she’s not willing to take that step yet. She’s not quite been driven far enough to shoot a human, even one as armed and dangerous as Matt is. Maybe she should have aimed for him, but as it was she had thrown the blade at Jackson.

“Like that’s going to work,” Matt shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the knife protruding from Jackson’s chest, “If that’s the way you’re going to play, well then,” he sighs, “Go get her.”

The last comment was said to the kanima, and with a quick yank of claws her knife is ripped out of its chest and tossed aside. The kanima leaps forwards and Chris and Allison scatter. As expected, the kanima goes for her, and she throws herself behind a parked car.

“Allison!” Chris shouts, moving towards her. He has his gun out and look about to pull the trigger when Matt is suddenly there, lashing out.

Allison stifles a cry as her dad drops. Matt’s not human anymore, she thinks, he’s too strong, too powerful. Chris crumples to the ground and his gun skids across the concrete floor. Clenching her fist in determination, Allison moves out from behind the parked car.

She takes a running leap and lands on the nearest police cruiser. It dips under her weight and then she’s running, up and along towards the next car. The kanima spots her and with a screech it leaps after her, just as the car alarms start blaring.

With a cry of pain, Jackson skids to a halt, crashing into the side of the car and clawing in vain at where Allison imagines the reptile’s ears are. She drops back to the ground, whirling around and spinning her remaining blade in a clean rotation so that the handle rests securely in her palm. She takes a step back towards Matt.

“Allison! Look out!”

With a whine and a crash the car alarm dies suddenly. The kanima is standing again, and it punched cleanly through the side of the metal, ripping it apart like butter. It’s eyes are fixed on her and Allison stills, it’s gaze unnervingly resting on her, seconds before it moves.

Scott, who had shouted out a warning only seconds before, crashes into the kanima. He’s snarling with orange eyes and a flash of claws, and that’s all Allison needs to move forwards, neatly and cleanly and to plunge her blade into Jackson’s throat.

The writhing kanima goes still and Scott’s claws cut nearly across the stomach. Jackson drops, black blood spilling out and he’s choking, trying to breath around the metal in his wind pipe.

“Are you okay?” Scott asks her, breathless. She sidesteps around Jackson and Scott moves to meet her. Jackson looks like he’s dying. His claws are scrabbling uselessly at the floor and making no effort to pull the knife out. He’s going to die, Allison thinks stupidly, watching Jackson - the kanima - convulse. He can’t heal from this… can he?

“Why do you care?” Allison snaps at him, suddenly bitter. Scott recoils away from her, looking like she punched him in the face, “You lied to us!” she accuses in a low voice, “About Gerard…”

His expression clears in sudden understanding, “Allison, no, it’s not what you think…”

“I don’t care.”

The door crashes open again and Derek and Isaac reappear. Isaac is still hobbling, but he manages to stand without aid, eyes flashing gold at Matt.

“Give up,” Derek growls at the teenager, “You’re outnumbered.”

“Come on, Matt…” Scott finally tears his gaze away from her, “You can’t win.”

“There are four of us,” Allison adds in, “You can’t take us all on. Not with Jackson out of commission.”

And Matt? Matt just laughs, blinking slowly and lazily and he doesn’t look worried at all. He spreads out his arms, “Who said he was out of commission?” he laughs at them, and with horror Allison turns back to stare at Jackson’s body.

Jackson is still lying where he had dropped to the floor earlier, and now she thinks about it, of course they hadn’t done enough to kill him, but this…

He’s neither dead, nor dying, but he’s not particularly threatening at the moments either. Allison steps backwards, away from the clear substance dripping off his claws like water. It pools around him in a sticky pile. Allison recognises it as venom. Jackson’s being encased in his own venom.

“Well that’s sufficiently terrifying,” Derek deadpans, sounding surprisingly calm.

Scott bends down, frowning. He doesn’t touch the stuff, just watches as more and more seeps out to surround the lizard’s form. Jackson still looks like a lizard. There is no recognisable human feature at all. “What’s happening to him?” Scott asks.

Isaac takes a step backwards, “I don’t particularly want to find out…” he swallows, just as one of the limbs twitched violently. They all back away so quickly it would be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying.

Matt watches with a smirk. Because any second now Jackson’s going to stand, going to get better and then… then he has all the power. He has the control. And they can’t let him have that power. Allison makes a lightning fast decision and darts towards where her dad’s gun had skidded out of his grasp. Her fingers enclose on the grip when a boot slams down on the muzzle, preventing her from picking it up.

She looks up and Matt glances down at her, “You know how I said that I wasn’t that guy who would say something like, "well, if I can't have her, no one can?” he asks, and she doesn’t know what he means… what is he talking about? But then she remembers with horror and he nods, seeing the recognition in her eyes, “I lied,” he shrugs, “Because if I can’t have you? Nobody can…”

Allison doesn’t know what he was going to do next. Maybe Jackson would have jolted into movement by then, or maybe Mat would have lifted up the gun he still held loosely in his hands.

But she’s not going to find out because at that moment there is a loud crack and Matt’s whole body lurches as a bullet lodges itself into his brain.

 

The sound of the gun is loud and startling, and it makes Scott jump, but what’s really alarming is the spray of blood. Matt’s whole body lurches and then he just topples. Allison makes  grab for her father’s gun and staggers backwards, and Scott goes to help her but she pushes right past him, standing and cocking the weapon, raising it to point at her grandfather.

“Gerard?”

Allison lowers her weapon slightly, although Scott wishes she’d keep it up. Especially when Gerard just _killed_ Matt and is now examining the body with fastidious distaste, like Matt is a fly he found on the bottom of his boot.

“What are you doing?” Scott doesn’t realise he’s spoken until the words have left his mouth. But there’s no point pretending otherwise anymore. Allison somehow knows about Gerard, and Derek and Isaac don’t look that trusting and…

Gerard shoots him a thin smile, as if he’s about to lecture them, “The kanima is a weapon of vengeance,” he says.

Allison steps to one side, “Is this about Kate?” she asks, and she keeps glancing sideways at her dad, as if she wants to run to him, but is scared to take her eyes off Gerard.

Gerard huffs and rolls his eyes, “I came here not just to bury my daughter,” he sneers, “I came here to avenge her. And not just Kate, Allison. Your mother as well.”

Icy shards dig into Scott’s chest, because Allison’s mother… what was wrong with her mother…?

Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Allison raise the gun that little bit higher to point at Gerard’s head. “She didn’t have to kill herself!” Allison spits with vengeance, and Scott hears Derek’s gasp of realisation next to him, “Those are your laws. Your customs. But there’s a better way! You didn’t have to drive her to suicide!”

Gerard chuckles, “Victoria died, following the code. A bite by an alpha werewolf was bound to turn her. She was dead the moment the alpha sank his fangs into her.”

“No…” Scott hears Derek whisper, and _god_ Allison’s mother had been bitten. She’d been bitten and she’d followed custom and killed herself and no wonder Allison couldn’t look at him. But if Victoria had been bitten by an alpha then…

“The question you’re not asking, Allison, is who is the only alpha in Beacon Hills capable of doing such a _terrible_ deed?”

The words hang heavy in the air for a moment before they finally register. And just like that Allison swings the gun from pointing at her grandfather’s head to pointing at Derek’s.

 

It’s not true.

He must be lying, because Derek was their ally. He was a sort-of-friend  he _wouldn’t_ he had been with her and Stiles, rescuing Scott…

Except he hadn’t been. He had turned up late, and that was plenty of time to sink his teeth into…

No…

“He’s lying,” Derek’s attention is fully on her, eyes desperate. Allison doesn’t know what to believe. She has no idea who to trust. She feels completely and utterly alone.

And Gerard is still standing there _smiling…_

“This won’t kill you,” she waves the gun slightly, “But it will hurt. Is he telling the truth?”

“NO!”

“How can I believe that?” she laughs hysterically, “From you? You lied to Scott about the cure for a bite! You lied to Stiles about the alpha! You lied to Isaac about the dangers involved!”

“To keep them safe!” Derek emphasises, “You didn’t need to know! But I swear I didn’t bite your mother! I was there - with you and Stiles and Scott and…”

“You weren’t though! You came afterwards!”

“And what are you going to do? Shoot me? Kill me? Can’t you see that he’s lying?”

Allison can’t see anything clearly. The world isn’t black and white and her family aren’t motivated by anything good. They’re rotten all the way through and maybe… maybe she’s just as rotten.

The movement out of the corner of her eyes has her flinching, but it’s Isaac who is attacked by a dark black shape. It’s the kanima, fluid still leaking off its form and it lashes out, sending Isaac flying to one side. Its whole shape is slick with venom, and there is something almost skeletal spreading from its shoulders.

“Are those wings?” Scott gapes, and Gerard just smiles. Jackson’s growing even more powerful, and he’s almost rabid, barely kept in check because his master is dead but…

“The kanima must have a master,” Gerard’s voice is trembling with excitement, and Allison wonders in a state of total shock if her grandfather even realises he just quoted Pirate of the Caribbean. But he’s staring at Jackson with something that looks like adoration, “And,” Gerard says, straightening, “In the wake of the previous master’s death the power is transferred to the one who killed his previous puppeteer. Which would be me.”

“No!” Derek snarls, stalking forwards but Allison pulls the trigger, and Derek stops, a bullet passing inches in front of his face. “Allison…” he says.

She shakes her head, “Nuh uh,” she refuses to let him move, “Stay where you are.” She turns to face Gerard, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders, “What do you want?” she asks her grandfather, and he looks almost proud of her for the first time as she asks that.

“Why don’t you ask Scott?” he suggests lightly. “As you can see, there have been some interesting developments lately.”

“What are you doing? It wasn’t meant to go like this!” Scott argues, wide-eyed.

“Come on, Scott, let's be realistic about who's got the upper hand. Or I will send Jackson here, straight into where your mother and Stiles’ father are.”

Allison laughs, because if Gerard threatens Stiles’ father, Stiles will _kill_ him. She doesn’t even question that, not after Peter. But Scott… she glances to the yellow-eyed wolf, “Scott, what is he talking about? What is it he wants you to do?”

Scott looks uncomfortable, “He wants the bite.” Allison closes her eyes because that… that’s the most hypocritical thing she’s heard in a long time. Almost unconsciously she turns around so that she’s back to aiming at Gerard.

“No,” Derek takes full advantage of the fact he’s not about to be shot to attempt another abortive movement, but this time it’s the kanima that stops him. And Jackson’s fast. He’s really fast now, and he’s growing more powerful. That shouldn’t be possible, but Derek lets out a surprised hiss, hand flying to the back of his neck and he drops. Scott catches him, supporting Derek’s weight.

She demands: “Why?” at the same time that she realises it herself, “The pills…”

Gerard nods slowly, “Man has many cures for diseases, but none for cancer,” he looks disgusted, but Allison thinks it’s appropriate that he died from something almost as foul as him, “The supernatural however, does have a cure,” and he smirks at Derek who suddenly appears to realise how well and truly screwed he is.

“No.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice.”

Gerard meets Allison’s gaze and she tenses, because Scott is there and Scott…

Scott’s working for Gerard.

“Don’t,” she tells him, “Scott…” the gun wavers in her grip, torn between where she should be pointing it… which side she is on… “You can’t give it to him! He’ll kill Derek, he’ll be an alpha…”

She opens her eyes again, looking about and just for a moment she catches Scott’s gaze. He’s staring at her pleadingly, and there is something there, in the yellow supernatural gaze… for a moment she could have sword she saw a spark of another colour…

Scott doesn’t say anything but his eyes beg ‘trust me’.

So she does.

She lowers the gun.

 

“Scott! Don’t! Don’t!”

“I’m sorry. But I have to.”

Scott forces Derek’s head up and hating himself for it, he forces Derek to bite.

Derek’s teeth clamp down on Gerard’s arm and Gerard laughs triumphantly, stepping backwards. Scott drops Derek, but doesn’t move from where the other alpha is trying to move through the paralysis.

“Finally,” Gerard says, and Allison stares numbly at the sight of his bleeding arm. Her grandfather isn’t as honourable as her mother though. He’s not going to kill himself. Instead he’s just going to seek more power.

Scott allowed that to happen. Allison is staring at her boyfriend (ex-boyfriend), unable to understand _why_. Scott helped Gerard to get the bite and she _trusts Scott,_ really, but she’s beginning to think that she’s just helped Scott make a terribly mistake.

Gerard is laughing, and at the edge of the room Isaac moans, shoving himself up. He takes in the scene, an emotionally shocked Allison, Scott standing over a hurt Derek and Gerard staggering back and clutching his wrist. From the bite in his arm black blood wells up, dripping down and…

“What the hell?” Isaac says, and Allison’s eyes drift back because--

Because Gerard’s arm is bleeding black blood. The same as Jackson’s.

Isaac unsteadily moves over to where Derek is, tugging up his alpha. Scott doesn’t offer help, instead circling around to one side, watching with baited breath. Derek is leaning on Isaac, but his eyes widen as he catches sight of the bite wound. Scott’s heartbeat skips a beat or two in pure relief because _it worked._

“What is this?” Gerard demands, “What did you do?” he shouts at Derek.

But it’s not Derek he should be looking at.

He should be looking at Scott. Scott who just shrugs slightly with a thin, pained grin, “I could smell the cancer,” he says, “I knew you were ill. I talked to Deaton. You had a plan but… so did I.”

“What?” Allison’s head whips to the side so fast she should have whiplash, “Scott… what…?”

Gerard reaches with a shaking hand into his coat pocket, and he tugs out a bottle of pills. Popping off the lid, he drops them onto his hands and crushes them in his palm with werewolf strength.

They burst into black powder that seeps through his fingers, “It was that night outside the rave, wasn’t it?” he sneers, and now there is blood dripping from his nose and the corner of his mouth…

“What is that?” Isaac whispers.

Gerard snarls, spittle flying everywhere. “MOUNTAIN ASH!” he drops the powder and looks about to leap at them, but stops, abruptly stooping as if in pain. His face creases and he chokes, black vomit splurging out onto the tarmac.

“That is disgusting,” Isaac mutters.

“Oh god…” Allison steps backwards in horror.

Gerard just peers up at them with crazed eyes, “ _Kill_ them,” he spits out, black saliva dripping down his lips. With a jolt Scott looks around for Jackson, spotting the whip-like tail and yellow eyes in the shadows, “Kill them aa---“ he is abruptly cut off as, with an awful screech, the doors to the garage crash open.

Gerard whirls around, but not fast enough because the car rolling through doesn’t stop. It slams straight into him.

Scott just has time recognise the pale blue of Stiles’ jeep seconds before it hits Gerard, knocking him flying. The brakes screech and Scott meets Stiles’ gaze behind the wheel, wide-eyed and panicked.

The doors slam and Stiles and Lydia slide out.

“Oh my god,” Stiles winces at first Matt’s body, and then at the black sludgy form of Gerard’s body. For a known killer, Stiles is surprisingly squeamish when it comes to bodily fluids, “Did I just kill a geriatric?” Stiles pulls a face, “Peter would be so proud.”

“Jackson! No!” Lydia somehow manages to run forwards, despite the heels, and Scott sees the snarl and fangs only after, and he’s moving as well but Lydia’s there first, placing herself between Allison and Jackson. Scott tugs Allison backwards, watching as Lydia closes her eyes, holding something out and waiting for claws to slash down.

They don’t come.

 

She’s standing there, expecting Jackson to kill her. He’s all scaly and kanima-like and there is the faint skeletal bone structure spreading from his shoulders that suggests he’s already developing wings but he…

He’s frozen. One claw remains outstretched, and his whole body is coated in some kind of slime or something, but he’s not moving.

His eyes are fixed on the key in Lydia’s hand.

“Jackson?” she whispers, because this is it - this is her only chance, “Jackson.” She doesn’t know what else to say.

But it’s enough. He blinks and yellow lizard eyes turn back to human blue. His features twist and shift until she can see human skin under the scales. “Lydia?” his voice is hoarse and rough, but it’s him. She wants to punch him, but she wants to hug him as well. As it is she does neither because a shot rings out, clean and loud in the silence.

Jackson’s eyes flutter closed and he chokes. Lydia staggers backwards in shock, colliding with Allison and Scott just as a shape bursts out of nowhere and Peter slams his claws into Jackson’s heart.

She glances over her shoulder to see the Sheriff standing there, gun out. His face is grave. A shape hovers behind him, and upon seeing no danger, Malia darts over to Stiles like an anxious puppy.

It’s over, Lydia thinks.

It’s over.

Then with a choking cry Jackson stirs.

 

Peter’s staring down at Jackson with varying levels of disgust on his face Stiles’ claws still itch to rip into his former alpha, but he refrains because Scott told him not to. And so for now, he won’t.

Instead he keeps an eye on Jackson who is still the main threat. He’d be watching Jackson more closely, except he doesn’t want to get too well acquainted with Jackson’s nude form. As it is he still catches sight Jackson’s face, distorted with werewolf fangs and blue eyes. It looks weird, but it suits him better than scales, so Stiles allows himself to relax.

Jackson’s lack of clothes doesn’t stop Lydia from throwing herself forwards to wrap him in a hug. “Oh god,” she chokes against his chest, “You’re an idiot. A complete idiot.”

“What…?” Jackson seems dazed and confused, “What happened?”

There are light footsteps and Allison moves towards Stiles. She flashes him a thin and humourless smile, before dropping down to where her dad is groaning with a head wound.

Endings are messy, Stiles thinks, and not just because of the blood. Endings are messy because he can see a trail of black sludge where Gerard had been lying but no Gerard. He makes a start after that, but there is a hand on his wrist. He glances around to see Chris shaking his head. “Don’t,” Argent tells him, “We’ll get him,” he’s holding Allison closely, tightly, as if he’s scared to let her go.

Melissa had crept in after Stiles’ dad, and she’s over by Scott, embracing him and cupping his face in her hands, reassuring herself that he’s okay.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks Isaac, although the former still looks a bit paralyzed.

“Am I okay?” Isaac scoffs, “What about you? Not just the paralysis, because I know from experience that sucks, but you… you were forced to bite Gerard…”

Derek looks surprised, as if someone showing concern for him is new.

“Don’t look so alarmed,” Isaac looks nervous, “You’re my alpha. I’ve got to look after you too, right?”

Derek’s gaze slides over and he meets Stiles’ watching look. His hazel eyes flicker to Peter.

Stiles shakes his head.

Derek relaxes just that tiny bit.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says, and the alpha looks towards the other young werewolf. Scott has fought his way free of his mother’s embrace to catch Derek’s attention. “I’m sorry I made you bite him, but I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you my plan. I’m not in your pack.”

Derek just nods stiffly.

“I’m with Scott,” Stiles’ voice is slightly hoarse, as he wraps an arm round Malia, stepping forwards to meet with his dad. The Sheriff has a resigned look on his face which suggests he’s preparing to adopt the coyote girl.

Scott looks mildly surprised at that, and all Stiles can do if offer up a weak grin. Scott’s beam back is completely worth it and around him the sounds settle into a nice manageable hum. Lydia and Jackson are still hugging. The Argents are whispering together and Allison has tears in her eyes. Peter is lurking, but Derek has half an eye on him, and half an eye on Isaac who is trying to help his alpha to stand upright without knocking into anything.

There is the hint of light seeping through the windows. The sun is finally rising, the moon set and…

And maybe…

Maybe everything was going to be okay now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue to go, wow, cramming three episodes worth of events into a shorter time span was surprisingly hard. I'm sorry, because some people may have been hoping for a Gerard-kidnaps-Stiles scene, but Kate did that instead last season which is why I didn't do it again.


	21. Redo

The morning after everything, Stiles and the Sheriff eventually manage to find a moment to drive out to a house on the southern edge of the preserve. Malia is bundled into the back seat, clinging onto the edge of the seat nervously. Every time the car turns she tenses just a little. Stiles can’t tell if it’s from anxiety at what is to come, or fear at being inside the enclosed space of the moving vehicle.

They knock on the door and John straightens his uniform, still slightly dusty and blood splattered from that night.

Henry Tate is a frowning man of little understanding for being awoken early on a holiday week. His expression clears almost immediately when Malia is dragged into view and he stares at her in pure shock and awe, recognising her despite so many years apart.

And Malia clings to her father, tears in her eyes and words choking in her throat.

They eventually leave the duo, after explanations. Or lies, depending on your perspective, but Tate just nods and accepts the falsifications they cram down his throat, still too busy marvelling over his eldest daughter. Stiles assures himself that Malia is safe, that she is happy, before eventually relaxing, content to leave the coyote with her father. He’s done his good deed.

He doesn’t expect his window to creak open in the middle of the night. His claws are out and he’s half-way towards attacking the intruder before he recognises her scent.

“Malia?” he whispers, blue fading from his eyes.

Her eyes are blue too, he realises suddenly. He’s not the only blue-eyed shapeshifter anymore.

She blinks her eyes back to brown, “I c-couldn’t s-s-sleep.” She’s shaking and shivering and it’s easy to just wrap her up in his arms and duvet. “It’s just s-so…” her face twists in frustrated, “Not-right,” she tells him.

“Wrong?” Stiles offers her up alternative words, “Weird? Strange?”

“Strange,” she decides, “I miss my den. My territory. I miss being a coyote.”

“We might be able to help you,” he tells her, “You can control it, you know.”

“So I wouldn’t hurt him?”

She doesn’t have to specify who. Stiles knows who she means. “You’re not going to hurt your dad,” he reassures her, “We can teach you control.” He’ll find a better method as well. Then again anything is better than being stuffed into the trunk of a car.

The girl nods against his chest. Stiles thinks it’s odd, because coyotes are lone animals, and it’s odd that she seeks out a friend, a pack in her time of need. But then she glances up at him, “It’s not my den,” she whispers, “It’s not… I can’t do this. I can’t be…” she pauses, and Stiles gently un-pries her hands from where they are curling into claws with her frustration.

“Being human isn’t hard,” he tells her, “We’ll help you. All of us.”

Her smile is blinding, and she relaxes into him, a warm little ball of coyote, sans fur, curled into his side.

His dad finds them in the morning, Stiles snoring gently on his back in the middle of the bed with Malia clinging to him like a hot-water bottle. She’s got one arm splayed across his chest and she’s gnawing quietly on his shoulder in her sleep. John has no idea whether to be concerned or not, so he settles for taking a picture on his phone and smiling softly.

He thinks their little family of two just grew by one more.

 

Jackson still loves Lydia.

Of course he does. She brought him back. Back from the brink of scales and claws and - he shudders - wings. She tethered him down and he was reminded of who he was again.

He’s a werewolf now - he’s got his wish. It seems almost petty considering all the people who died because of it. He feels guilty, but not as guilty as he knows he’d be if he remembered even half of it. Instead he’s just disgusted with everything. With life, with Matt, with himself…

But never with Lydia.

With Lydia he’s just more in love with her than ever.

And that? That’s bad. He can’t have that.

Jackson hates being weak. Detests it. He has to prove himself, and even though now he realises the only person he has to prove himself to is to himself, he still doesn’t like being second-best. He doesn’t like having such a glaring, gaping weakness, that even a former psychopath can see it (Stiles and Lydia argue that Peter’s still a psychopath, and neither will go near him. Jackson doesn’t mention Peter around them, because the one time he did, Stiles’ sarcasm got a razor sharp edge and Lydia’s gaze drifted off into the distance for a startling long minute.)

He tells Lydia first. Before he’s even told his parents. Before he’s even told Derek (his alpha, some part of him screams).

“I’m moving to London.”

“Okay,” she says, and that’s it.

He’s getting away. He’s getting out. (He can see what the others cannot).

Beacon Hills is dangerous. And it’s not getting any better.

It’s not safe. Not for him, or for anyone else, not that he’d be able to persuade them of that. But they’ll see in time. They’ll crawl away too, shattered and broken. They’ll run, if they’re still alive to realise what he now knows.

Beacon Hills will kill you. It almost killed him, and he almost got others killed. He did get others killed. He almost killed Lydia.

That’s why he’s got to get out. Because he’s no good for her. He doesn’t want to hurt her again, and he also can’t bear to stand around to watch Beacon Hills tear her apart as well. She’s already showing cracks. Stilinski is a broken mess, and somewhere along the way he’s picked up a mismatched coyote. Scott’s crumbling under the blows raining down and Allison has a deep crack running right through her. Derek’s been scorched and blackened, and his pack aren’t any better.

Jackson doesn’t even want to know what he’s like. He’s already scarred, he decides. He doesn’t want to stick around to see what he’ll be like in six months’ time.

“I’m moving to London,” he tells Lydia before anyone else.

She shrugs, “Okay,” is all she says. She smiles, and she looks sad, but she doesn’t argue.

“I still love you,” he says then.

“I know,” she’s still smiling, that sad smile, “Here,” she drops something cold and metal into the palm of his hand. “Take care,” she tells him, before she spins neatly around and walks out of the door.

The cold edges of the key press into his palm, and Jackson closes his eyes so he doesn’t cry.

Lizards don’t cry.

But wolves do.

A single tear rolls down his face.

 

“Jackson left.”

“Oh.” Allison doesn’t really know what to say to that. “I broke up with Scott,” she offers. It was almost worse because he’d been completely and totally understanding of her situation. They couldn’t be together. Not like they had. Not until they both looked at who they were first.

Allison had thought she knew, but now…

Now she doesn’t.

“Great!” Lydia says with a blinding smile, “That means we can spend a summer totally boy free.”

“Don’t you miss him?” Allison frowns at Lydia. This is the girl who only days before had brought a killer reptile back to humanity using love. “I thought you loved him.”

Lydia looks for a moment like she’s about to brush Allison off, but then pauses and considers the question, “I do,” she says, “I don’t know… I don’t know what we could have been, and that… I’ll be sad about that. But in the same way I’m glad he’s gone.” Her smiles is thin, “I don’t want to get my heart broken.” She’s staring sympathetically at Allison, and again her thoughts turn to Scott.

Their love was at first sight. Even when everything threatened to tear them apart, they had still been there for each other, to lean and support each other. But now…

Now they needed to spend time apart. They needed to let other people in.

She still loves Scott. She thinks a part of her will always love him. He promised he’d wait, and Allison will wait too. She’ll wait and see, because maybe a few years down the road that spark will burn once more between them.

“Stop moping,” Lydia leans forwards and shoves her shoulder gently, “A few more weeks and we have the summer. All. To. Our. Selves!”

Allison laughs,” Actually,” she shakes her head, “I’m not going to be here for some of it,” she admits, weakly, “My dad and I are taking a trip. To France. We need time to…”

Recover, rest, come to terms with what had happened… there are so many words and phrases to try and explain what they need to do. Her mother is dead, and Allison’s still trying to pick everything up from where it shattered under the full moon. Her mother is dead and her grandfather was a psycho obsessed over getting the bite.

There is a text on her phone that she hasn’t replied to from Stiles, saying that if she ever wants to talk he’ll answer. She knows that he’s lost a mother too, and some part of her is relieved that she won’t be the only one.

Lydia’s staring at her with a jealous expression, “Oh my god, you have to bring me back some of those clothes,” she is saying, and that’s more like the old Lydia. Fiery and passionate, and fiercely intelligent. But there is something new there that Allison hasn’t seen before.

Determination.

Allison takes that and grabs hold of it. Because there is more awaiting her in France than just the final few stages of grief until she reaches acceptance.

 _“Your mother was bitten by an alpha named Deucalion,”_ Derek had told Chris and her.

She’s got motivation.

 

"Good morning. In less than an hour, aircraft from here will be joining others from around the world. And you will be launching the largest aerial battle in the history of mankind."

Stiles gives a muted groan and drops his head into his palm. Next to him Isaac gives a sigh so large his shoulders tremble. Melissa squints, “What.” Her tone is a deadpan question.

The other side of the locker room, Coach waves his hands about in grand extravagance. “Mankind!” he declares, “That word should have a new meaning for all of us today!”

Scott looks mildly pained and Isaac pats him on the back reassuringly, “Just think,” the beta reasons, “After fighting off a lizard person and a geriatric psychopath - Coach’s speeches and lacrosse should be no problem.”

“You’ll be great!” Melissa pumps her fist from where she’s wandered into the locker room to wish Scott ‘good luck’ before the game. “You’ve got an advantage, right? Use it!”

“Mom - being a werewolf does not give me an excuse to cheat at lacrosse!”

“I give you permission to cheat.” Stiles snickers into his hands at Scott’s startled expression as he stares at his mother. He looks shocked and disturbed by his mother _telling_ him to cheat. Melissa however is distracted, “Hey - wait… is this?” she points at Coach.

“We are fighting for our right to live!” Coach chimes out and around them, the team cheer.

Stiles nods slowly, “ _Yeaahhh_ ,” he drawls, “It’s the speech from Independence Day.”

“--But as the day the world declared in one voice--“

“It’s his favourite movie…”

“We will not go quietly into the night!”

“Does he not know any sports speeches?”

“I don’t think he cares.”

“Today we celebrate our -- _Argent_ , what have I told you about coming into the boys locker room when people are changing?!”

“Uh…” Allison looks startled, and Coach looks really put off that she ruined the end of his speech, “I just wanted to talk to Scott and Stiles. And Isaac.”

Coach chokes, “What.” Stiles wonders what the hell Coach could be thinking of now, and then decides he doesn’t want to know. “Danny…” Coach pats the nearby teenager on the shoulder, “I want you to keep an eye on them.” He’s trying to be confiding, but his confiding voice is still audible to everyone, even Melissa who looks confused by the implications. “But don’t join in!” Finstock hastens to add, “No joining in!”

“Excuse me; I’ll just… yeah…” Allison darts between burly lacrosse players and reappears in front of the three werewolves and one mother, “Uh… hey…” her foot taps awkwardly on the floor. She looks nervous and Stiles smiles reassuringly at her. She grins hesitantly back, but still looks unsure of herself. “Just wanted to wish you guys luck.”

Scott won’t meet her gaze, but still mumbles a “thanks.”

“Are you going to be watching?” Melissa asks softly. She’s not just a mother to Scott. Ever since Claudia died, she’s been a mother to Stiles too, and now with a soft smile she’s a mother to Allison and Isaac as well. Her love is big enough to go around and Stiles feels slightly embarrassed for some reason, but there is a warm feeling inside him that he curls into.

“Yeah,” Allison nods, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. Her smile is wobbly, but her voice warm, “Malia said she’d be there. We were gonna hang out with Lydia, and I was going to try and explain lacrosse to her.”

Stiles snorts, “Good luck,” he tells her, “I’m still trying to explain utensils to her.”

“Stilinski!” Coach barks out, “You’re on the field, since Jackson left!” he mumbles a profanity under his breath. Stiles just gapes.

“Wha- but I thought Isaac was sub?”

“He is!” Coach growls, “For McCall.”

“What?” Scott yelps.

“You’re not playing because of your grades,” Coach looks about ready to murder someone, “It’s not my decision, McCall, believe me - that is not my decision. But it means Lahey’s covering for you. Stilinski’s covering for Jackson.”

“But what about Greenberg?” Stiles protests.

“Greenberg? He sucks. You suck… slightly less.”

“So I’m playing? With the team?”

“Are you deaf? YES!” Coach’s shout deafens one of Stiles’ ears and he winces. Coach just scoffs, “Unless you’d rather play with yourself?”

Stiles blinks, “I already did that today. Twice.” There is the sound of Allison choking and Scott’s palm hitting his forehead. Melissa looks like she is pretending she didn’t hear that. Coach just rolls his eyes.

“Just get the hell out there!”

 

“Why is my son out there?” John squints at the field.

“He’s playing,” Allison sits down next to him and Malia, “Scott got benched and Jackson’s gone. And Stiles is on the team, even if he somehow seems to occupy the position of Coach’s secretary.”

“He’s on the team?” the Sheriff squints, but Malia just leaps up.

“That’s good, right? Can I cheer now?”

“No!” Lydia drags her back down, “Cheering only starts when the game does,” she instructs. She looks totally serious and Malia blinks at her with wide-eyes, looking like she wants to absorb every word Lydia says, but at the same time completely disagrees with her.

Allison shrugs, “I’m cheering,” she says, and then proceeds to loudly whoop as their team runs out. Malia joins her and Lydia pretends not to know either of them.

 

Scott sits on the bench. He’s still nervous, even a week after everything that happened. His mother had spoken about speaking to the guidance councillor, and he might, he thinks. But Deaton tends to work just as well when he needs guidance.

There is a crash and Isaac staggers away from a player, muttering apologies. Scott doesn’t pause until he realises that the guy being carted off is on _their_ team. What the hell--

There is another crash and this time it’s Stiles who somehow manages to dislocate someone’s shoulder. Again the person on their team limps back to the bench and Coach sends off the next person.

Scott realises what the other two wolves are doing, seconds before Stiles trips the last one and then Isaac crashes into the poor dude. Coach sighs, “You have no idea how lucky you are McCall,” he says, “No idea. Now get out there. We’re dying, being murdered and…”

\--and Stiles manages to put a ball into the net, and he seems to be the one most surprised by it.

“Okay, maybe not dying,” Coach admits, “But what hell. Go win this for us! But next season get your grades up, understand? Get your grades up! I need you on the team!”

“Sure thing, Coach,” Scott slots on his helmet and picks up his lacrosse stick. It seems almost trivial, to be worrying about grades, but on the field Isaac and Stiles look like they’re plotting the murder of another team mate, so he jogs over to them, feeling relaxed and happy for the first time in ages as he joins his friends on the field.

 

“What’s the matter, Derek?” Isaac is still recovering from the post-game high when he arrives back at the subway car, “What’s wrong?”

Derek is standing in the middle of the wolf den - ahem, warehouse - looking grim. “Have you seen Erica or Boyd?” he asks, “Have you seen either of them since the full moon?”

Isaac wonders what this is about, but then he actually takes a moment to stop and think, “No…” he’s growing cold, “No I… why? What… where are they?”

“Missing,” Peter drawls from the shadows, and the guy still makes Isaac uneasy, “Well,” Peter stalks forwards and comes to a stop behind Derek, “Aren’t you going to tell the kid where they are?”

“Derek?” Isaac’s voice tilts slightly, “Derek, what is he talking about? Where are they?”

“Come on,” Peter goads, “He’s going to find out eventually.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“They’ve been taken. Kidnapped.”

“By who?”

“Another pack.”

Peter laughs scornfully and because he has to have the last word he steps forwards, “Not just a pack. An alpha pack.”

“You mean like… the head pack?” Isaac frowns. “That was their symbol on your old house, right?”

“It’s not just a pack,” Derek’s voice is grave, but stressed, “It’s an Alpha Pack. A pack of _alphas_. And they’re not coming. They’re already here.”

 

“You’ve still got me, you know,” Stiles tells Scott sometime afterwards, “You know that right? I know there was all that stuff with Peter, and then you and Gerard but… I understand. _God,_ do I understand why you did it.”

“I know,” Scott smiles sadly.

Stiles doesn’t actually think Scott does so he continues, “No, I mean… if you want me - you’ve got me. I’m not… I’m not in Derek’s pack. And I’m not with Peter. Not now. Now? I’m with you, if you’ll have me. You once said that we can be omegas together and… maybe that’s true, but if we’re together, we’re not omegas are we? We’re a pack?”

Scott just laughs, “I _know_ ,” he says again, “Dude, I know, okay? I know I’ve still got you, but that - that’s because I always had you.”

“And you still do,” Stiles insists, and then realises he’s repeating himself.

“I do,” Scott nods in agreement, smiling, “We’re pack, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wanted to send so much thanks to everyone reading! I started the s1 part of this AU back in JUNE, and it took me five months to write. I started this in October, and it's been done in less than two months and I wasn't even planning to write s2.
> 
> I will get 3a out for this AU eventually, but I currently have none written, and I have about a hundred other things that I want to write or finish, so expect at least a month before I get it out. Definitely not before the new year.
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://shadow-of-the-eclipse.tumblr.com/) if anyone wants to drop by say hi! Ideas, thoughts and criticism is also welcome!


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